


36 Questions

by ahurston



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Brief mention of past drug use, Come play, Facials, Light D/s, M/M, Praise Kink, Road Trips, Talk and Talk and Talk, Whole Lotta Invented Backstory, future!fic, married
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-08
Updated: 2019-09-06
Packaged: 2020-08-11 19:02:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 20,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20158531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ahurston/pseuds/ahurston
Summary: "A practical methodology is presented for creating closeness in an experimental context. Pairs carry out self-disclosure and relationship-building tasks that gradually escalate in intensity." - "The Experimental Generation of Interpersonal Closeness: A Procedure and Some Preliminary Findings"David and Patrick go on a road trip, and work through 36 intimacy-building questions from the annals of social psychology.





	1. Chapter 1

“If you had to guess, what percentage do you think you know me?” David asked from the passenger seat, Patrick driving them to the annual Ontario Potters Association Festival in Sault Ste. Marie. 

“Know you, or know about you?” Patrick clarified, hands at perfect 10 and 2 on the wheel. 

“What’s the difference?”

“Do you mean biographically, like do I know the name of your third grade teacher and what happened in 1996 that made you so afraid of moths, or the deeper stuff, like how you feel about your dad and the fact that you secretly pray sometimes?”

“Didn’t know you knew about the praying. Both, I guess.”

“30%,” Patrick answered, diffinitively. 

“What the fuck, Patrick? 30%? And you’re alright with that?”

“Well, what percentage do you think you know me?”

“I was going to say 75%, but now I’m doubting that!” David answered, indignant. 

Patrick continued looking serenely out at the road in front. “I think it’s good, not knowing everything about each other.”

“But we’re married. Isn’t the ‘getting to know you’ stage supposed to be over?”

“I hope not. You contain multitudes, David. I love that I’ll always be learning about you.”

“Ok, that’s sweet. Maybe.” David looked out the window. They’d been on the road for a couple of hours now, and the rocky and open terrain was really quite beautiful, especially with the leaves turning travel-magazine-cover-colors. David glanced back down at his phone and was reminded why he’d asked the question in the first place. 

“Have you heard of the 36 Questions?”

“Is that a Scientology thing? Am I going to be audited?”

“Fuck no, after what they did to Leah Remini?” David replied, aghast, until he saw the smirk on Patrick’s face. 

“I’ll have you know, the 36 Questions are a peer-reviewed, scientifically based list developed by social psychologists to see if they could get people to fall in love in a lab setting, by having them share progressively more intimate and revealing information about themselves. And it worked. Some of the participants even got married. You want to try it?”

“David. I have something important I feel I must disclose first. To preserve the scientific integrity of this endeavor. I am already in love with you.”

David rolled his eyes. “Ok, sure. But by your own admission, you think you only know 30% of all there is to know about me,” David said, a little mulishly. 

“Fair point, let’s do it. What’s the first question?”

“So they’re in three sets of twelve questions, getting deeper into it as they go along. The first one is: ‘Given the choice of anyone in the world, whom would you want as a dinner guest?’ You go first.”

“Dead or alive?” Patrick clarified.

“It doesn’t specify. I think we could go with either.”

“Hmm. Let’s stop for gas, and I’ll think about it.”

In the gas station, David stocked up on Smarties, Twizzlers, and Dr. Pepper because he was a bit of a trash goblin on road trips. He bought Patrick an iced tea and his favorite, terrible beef jerky because he was an excellent husband. 

Back in the car, Patrick ripped into the jerky with his teeth. “I got it. John Muir. ‘The clearest way into the Universe is through a forest wilderness.’ He actually did a lot of exploring in this area, around the Georgian Bay. I think we’d have a lot to talk about.”

David nods, smiling at him, in spite of the beef jerky.

“Who’s yours?” Patrick asked.

“Nobody famous, that’s for sure. I’ve met enough famous people.” 

Patrick gives him a little half smile at that, deeply familiar by now with David’s opinions on a variety of C-list celebrities. 

“I think mine is one of my college art history professors. Professor Cates. She was the first person who ever thought I had an eye for beauty, who wasn’t paid to say it. She was in her mid-60’s, wore Birkenstocks, and had a sad, long braid, but she knew pretty much everything about the birth of modernism in French art. I kind of loved her. In a way. You know. She was...special. Or something.”

“That’s sweet, David. I’d love to meet her. This would be quite a dinner party, if we were hosting it together.” Patrick took his hand, kissing his knuckles before returning his hands to the wheel. “What’s the next question?”

“Ok. ‘Would you like to be famous, and if so, in what way?’”

“Hm. I guess back in high school, I had the normal teenage boy’s fantasy of being getting famous playing baseball, but I don’t think I want anything like that any more. So no.”

“Well, I’ve already been sort-of, maybe-D-list famous, and I have no interest in any of that again. Except for maybe the private plane. And the yacht. But other than that, no,” David said, sure of this answer.

“We’re in agreement then. We can live and die in obscurity, together.”

“Sounds great, hon.” The prospect maybe shouldn’t sound so appealing, but it did. 

“Next. ‘Before making a telephone call, do you ever rehearse what you’re going to say?’ I’m answering this one first, because it’s embarrassing.”

Patrick waved him on, with a smile. 

“So, yes. Of course I do. Every phone call. Even ordering pizza. ‘Hi, yes, I’d like to place an order for delivery, thin crust, pepperoni, jalapenos, and red onions.’ Because what if, God forbid, I say something stupid otherwise?”

Patrick was laughing.

“You know what, this is kind of your fault. I’m apparently still working through the trauma of leaving you all those voicemails when we first met.”

“I thought they were cute. I thought  _ you  _ were cute.”

“That’s more a reflection on your judgment, I think.”

“You called me ‘David.’ It was adorable.”

“Ok, so next question.”

“I didn’t give my answer yet!”

“By all means.”

“No,” Patrick said, with no hesitation. 

“That’s your answer? ‘No’?” 

“Correct. I have never rehearsed a phone call in my life.”

“You’re an alien. Or you just don’t have crippling social anxiety. One of those.” That’s what David would tell himself, anyway. 

Patrick was still laughing. 

“ _ Next question. _ ‘What would constitute a perfect day for you?’” David asked, hoping to steer Patrick away from this current thread.

“You go first,” Patrick said, smile gentler now. 

“I went first last time!”

“Are we trading off? Is that the rule?” 

“I don’t know, why don’t you want to go first?” David retorted.

“Because you’re going to say it’s cheesy. You go first.”

“Fine. A normal day in our normal life, except I get to wake up at 10:00 and don’t have to see Roland once.”

“Fair. Ok. Mine is today. Today is good. I’m with you, there’s all this,” he gestures at the admittedly beautiful autumn landscape around them. “Maybe throw in a Blue Jays game, but that would honestly just be gravy at this point.”

“That wasn’t cheesy. That was nice. You’re nice.” 

“Aw,” Patrick said, but he scratched at the back of his neck in that way he always did when he was a little embarrassed. 

David took mercy on him. “Next up, we have, ‘When did you last sing to yourself, and to someone else?’”

“This is easy,” Patrick replied. “I sing all the time. Whenever you’re not in the store, and there aren’t any customers, I put on early 2000’s indie rock and go nuts.”

“I wish you were kidding, but I know you’re not.”

“And the last time I sang to someone...um.” There was that neck scratch again. Interesting. 

“Hmm? We’re building intimacy, remember?” David pressed.

“Well, ok. I might’ve sung to you. A couple months ago.”

“What? When? I don’t remember that.” David searched his memory, coming up blank.

“You might’ve been asleep. It wasn’t a performance or anything, no guitar. Just. You had food poisoning and had finally stopped throwing up, and I might’ve sung a little, to you, while I rubbed your sweaty back.”

“God, that’s gross. Sweet, but gross. What song?”

“You sure you want to know? Even if it’s early 2000’s indie rock?”

“Even then.”

“Let’s just listen to it. If you can bear it.”

David nodded, grimly. 

“Bright Eyes, ‘First Day of My Life.’ And yes, it’s from 2005.”

David pulled up the song, trying really hard to withhold judgment. Acoustic guitar started playing. Naturally.

_ “This is the first day of my life. Swear I was born right in the doorway.” _

_ “Yours in the first face that I saw. Think I was blind before I met you.” _

_ “I don't know where I am, I don't know where I've been, but I know where I want to go.” _

Uh oh. “You sang this at me, when I was clammy and disgusting?”

“That’s correct,” Patrick replied, clearly understanding what kind of torture that was.

“Fuck.”

“So. How about you?”

“That’s easy. Last time I sang for anyone was technically Mariah Carey karaoke at that hotel bar with Stevie a couple years ago.”

“Wow.” 

David glared at him. “And I guess I sort of hum to myself a lot, but not full-fledged singing. Not unless there’s a lot of alcohol involved.”

Patrick looked speculative at that, which was dangerous. Time to move on.

“‘If you were able to live to the age of 90 and retain either the mind or body of a 30-year-old for the last 60 years of your life, which would you want?’ Yikes, I don’t want to spend very long on this one. This one’s sad.”

“Mind. That’s all. You?” Patrick said, blessedly brief. 

“Same. Ok, moving right along. Jesus, another dark one. ‘Do you have a secret hunch about how you will die?’”

“You go first,” Patrick replied.

“Nope. I refuse. I have no idea, and I refuse to speculate. It’s got to be bad luck or something.”

“My grandparents all lived past 90. I think I’ll likely be on that trajectory,” Patrick said, with a firm nod.

“Thank God for your hardy ancestors,” David said, and let out a breath he’d been holding at just the very  _ idea _ of imagining how Patrick might one day,  _ shudder _ , not be on earth anymore. Next question, and quick. “‘Name three things you and your partner appear to have in common.’”

“Based on only these answers so far, or in general?” Patrick asked. 

“Let’s go general.” It went against every correct-game-playing fiber of David’s being, but this was a game with no rules other than the ones they invented. 

“Ok. We’re both exacting. Maybe in different ways, but the core trait is still the same.”

“Yeah, I’d agree with that,” David answered. “It’s probably for the best we get crazy about different things, right?”

“Right.”

“We both like beautiful things. Maybe different types of things - with you preferring a kind that involves significantly more exposure to the scourge of the earth: bugs,” David added.

Patrick laughed. “True.”

“Everything I’m thinking of for the third thing we have in common involves sex,” David admitted. “It’s true though. Lots of similarities there.” David couldn’t stop a slightly appraising look from crossing his face as he stared at Patrick’s forearms, uncovered by the button-up shirt he’d rolled to his elbows. “We’re both pretty fond of dicks, asses, mouths, and hands, and the various ways those can be used in combination, yeah?”

Patrick glanced at him, holding his gaze a beat longer than his Driver’s Ed-approved attention to the road would typically allow. 

“‘For what in your life do you feel most grateful?’” David asks, staring straight at him. 

Patrick shook his head a little, as if to jolt himself out of a daze. This was flattering. 

“Hm? Can you repeat the question?” Patrick asked. 

David smiled. “That question again was, ‘For what in your life do you feel most grateful?’ And no, we can’t say ‘each other.’ That’s both corny, and a given.”

“Well, in that case, Buzzfeed.”

“Excuse me?” David was sure he must have misheard. 

“Buzzfeed. Specifically, a 2008 article entitled, ‘Most Unfortunately Named Small Towns in Canada.’ Exported the list to Excel, added in driving distance from my picturesque hometown of Peterborough, threw in some basic information on nearby outdoor recreation areas, affordability, and then a subjective rank on how stupid the town’s name was. I may have been very drunk at the time. Needless to say, Schitt’s Creek won. And for that, I am most grateful to Buzzfeed.”

David was floored. “How. How did I not know this story. I think I’d always assumed you were just driving through town, stopped for gas, and got sucked into the Mystery Spot alternate reality that is that town.”

Patrick laughed. “Not quite. Excel definitely played a role too.”

“Ok, my turn. While I process that for the next five hundred years. Mine is Rose Video’s corrupt business manager, may he burn in hell.”

“Similar reasons as Buzzfeed, I assume?”

“Mmhmm. Correct,” David replied, sort of hoping Patrick wouldn’t press. 

“Care to share a little more?” Should’ve known. 

“Ah. Well. In the interests of intimacy. This is, um, dark? But there was really nothing good about my life before. Except the access to the best skin estheticians in Manhattan. And the schwarma, available at all hours of day or night. And the concerts. And the art galleries. Ok. So there were some good things. But nothing that really means anything now though. I didn’t  _ matter _ then, you know? And I, well. I do, now. To some people. And that’s nice.” 

“That is nice, David. That’s very nice. And you matter to more than a few people.”

David could feel himself blushing, which was ridiculous. “Ok. I’m reading the next question, and I think I’m going to need to be eating something delicious to offset this one.”

“Blind River’s coming up. You want to stop?” Patrick asked. 

“Yes. Do you think they have pie?” It was autumn, and nothing said autumn like pie. 

“Let’s find out.”

Twenty minutes later, they discovered that Blind River did indeed have pie, at a lovely little bakery down by the water. 

David examined the pastry case, trying to decide between the flavors on display. The friendly-faced woman behind the register must have read the hungry look on his face. “You’re in luck, boys. We had some late-fruiting saskatoons this year. How about a couple slices of that one? It’s a bit of a local speciality.”

“Sounds perfect. Two apple ciders as well, please.” 

“Coming right up.”

Outside again, generous slices of pie packed securely into clamshell to-go containers and a cardboard carrier for the ciders in hand, Patrick asked, “Want to eat down by the water?” 

David looked at him, really looked at him. He was unfairly pretty, especially in this crisp, clear air that so suited him. For the approximately 800th time, David tried to guess what he would’ve thought of Patrick, had he encountered him in his prior environs. Nothing. David knew he would have thought nothing at all of Patrick, back then. Past-David was a dumbass.

“Yeah, down by the water sounds good.”

Half the pie and cider demolished, David braved his phone again. 

“Ok. Here we go. ‘If you could change anything about the way you were raised, what would it be?’”

“Ah. I see why you needed pie for this one.”

“You want to go first?” David asked, cringing.

“Sure. It’s pretty simple, really. My parents and I needed to talk more. A lot more. They’re good people, you know that, but we just didn’t talk about anything that had a remote chance of becoming uncomfortable. And since I was pretty uncomfortable with, uh, just about everything important...well. You remember how that worked out for me.”

“I do.” David brought him in for a kiss, hand on the back of his sun-warmed neck, understanding completely.

“David, you don’t have to answer this one, if you don’t want to. I know you love your family, but I also know it’s complicated.”

David looked out at the water before replying. It was so beautiful here. “I’d make my family middle class. Like, major city middle class, not Schitt’s Creek middle class, but still. Comfortable, but not wealthy. I think that would’ve fixed just about everything, growing up. It would’ve kept Alexis a hell of a lot safer, anyway. And it would’ve meant that whatever I did with my life, I would’ve known I’d actually earned it.”

He could feel Patrick’s eyes on him, but he didn’t turn away from the lake for another moment. 

“Here. you read the next one,” David said, handing Patrick his phone. 

“Sure. ‘Take four minutes and tell your partner your life story in as much detail as possible.’”

“I’m going to need alcohol for that one,” David replied.

“Seconded. Want to just find a cheap place to stay here? We’ve only got a couple hours more driving to go before we get to Sault Ste. Marie, and we can go to the festival tomorrow morning. We’d still get home tomorrow night and be able to open the store the next day, so Stevie doesn’t kill us. How much wine did you offer her for covering for us, by the way?”

David waved him off. “Not important. Ok, there was a place we passed by on the way here that looked like somewhere I’d be willing to get naked. If getting naked together is still something you want after I tell you all about my extremely regrettable middle school years. There were sequins. And glitter.”

“Can’t wait. Let’s go drink.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, Leupagus.

Over a glass of unnamed house red for David and a locally produced farmhouse ale for Patrick, David started them off on question 11, the four minute life stories. He ran Patrick through the early years, the private schools and his parents’ arguments, how lonely he was. But there was also Adelina, who remains to this day the kindest person David has ever known. Evenings braiding Alexis’ hair whenever she’d let him, and that confusing and revealing summer in 1995 when he had insatiable crushes on both Posh Spice and Jason Priestley. 

He glossed over his high school years a bit, which wasn’t entirely voluntary. There was a lot there that he could only barely remember through the dense fog of various pharmaceuticals he’d taken at the time, alternately prescribed or raided from his mother’s open-access medicine cabinet. College was easier to talk about. He’d already told him about Professor Cates, and then there was how much he loved philosophy classes and hated science labs. He talked about Alexis, worrying about her while she was supposedly in Switzerland finishing high school. Worrying about his mother whenever she was bored between acting roles. Worrying about his dad and Rose Video whenever some news article about the eventual death of the movie rental industry popped up. Worry was a common thread running through most of his past, David realized. 

Had it been four minutes yet? 

Then there were the post-college, pre-Schitt’s Creek years, a string of unfortunate relationships and galleries that David had been proud of at the time, but in retrospect, knowing what he now knew about his parents’ shadow patronage, were tainted. He tried to pick out some highlights of those years anyway. Like that weekend he’d gone to retrieve Alexis from Mumbai, and their flight home was cancelled. So they’d taken the train down to Goa and spent three days eating samosas on the beach. One of those nights had included the most beautiful sunset he’d ever seen in his life. He and Alexis may have both cried, drunk on cashew feni, arms around each other’s shoulders. 

“And then we moved here. And I met you. But you know that part already.”

“I like that part though,” Patrick said, interlocking his ankle with David’s under the table. 

“Me too, but I’m ready for your turn now,” David said, worn out. He took a long drink from his glass. 

“Let’s get some food first, yeah?” Patrick asked, reading David’s mind. 

“Always a good plan.”

Twenty minutes later, David’s mood was significantly improved by the spaghetti carbonara served in what looked like a mixing bowl. He gestured for Patrick to go ahead and share his own life story. 

Patrick told him about camping with his parents, going to mass, being in the Boy Scouts, kissing girls and not loving it, and almost marrying Rachel. He told him about placing second in a regional band competition in high school, and the hot minute in college when he seriously considered changing his major to the classical guitar. Most of it David knew, but it was interesting hearing it in a sort of chronological fashion rather than piecemeal over the span of years. This all took exactly four minutes. 

“Did you rehearse this, somehow? How’d you time it so perfectly?” David said, half the bowl of carbonara gone. 

“Oh, forgot to mention. I was also the captain of my college speech and debate team. I’m pretty good at keeping track of time while I’m talking. Wouldn’t want to get a penalty for going over.”

“Mm. What’s a penalty in debate club?”

“Nothing sexy, David.”

“That’s too bad. You know what is sexy, hopefully? The motel next door.”

“It’s no president’s suite on a Greek island, but it’ll do?” Patrick asked, fond smile on his face. 

“As long as you’re there, it’ll do,” David replied.

“Did we finish the first set of questions though?”

David checked his phone. “Nope, one more.” An interesting one. “‘If you could wake up tomorrow having gained any one quality or ability, what would it be?’”

Patrick looked stumped. “I have to pick one thing? That’s not possible. There are so many things I wish I knew how to do.”

“I don’t think we can bend the rules on this one, hon,” David teased. 

“You go first, while I think about it.”

“I’m honestly only thinking of sex things though. I know I should pick something nice, like patience or whatever, but what if my new ability could be a complete lack of a refractory period, or what if I could absorb oxygen through my skin so I didn’t need to breathe while deep-throating, or what if I could put my knees all the way -”

“David.”

David finally refocused on Patrick’s face, pulling his attention away from the sexual acrobatics currently playing out on an IMAX screen in his mind. Patrick looked fucking edible, pupils blown and mouth a little open. 

“David, if you leveled up your sex skills in any of the ways you just described, you’d be putting me in the hospital,” Patrick said, voice flatteringly raspy. 

“And that would be...bad.”

“In that I’d rather not fuck or be fucked to death, maybe? Did you have any other ideas?” Patrick asked.

“Let’s go with patience. Sounds highbrow, but could have some interesting sexual applications too.”

“God.” Patrick squirmed in his chair, and took a long drink of his beer. 

“Ok, your turn.” David tucked back into the second half of his trough of noodles. 

“Got it. A preternatural affinity for picking up languages,” Patrick said, with a decisive nod. 

“Say more, please,” David pressed. 

“I want to go everywhere with you, but you’ve already been so many places. Magically being able to speak the local language would help me feel like I’m contributing something.”

Well, David wasn’t expected that. “You don’t think you’d be contributing something, unless you spoke fluent Catonese or Swahili or Tagalog?” This couldn’t be further from the truth.

“Well. I just don’t want to feel like a podunk burden,” Patrick replied, picking at the label on his beer bottle.

“Oh my God, Patrick. There is no one else on earth I want to travel with more than you. Actually, there’s no one else I want to travel with, period. Except maybe Stevie, and that would be more of an ironic weekend in Vegas than anything else, so that doesn’t count.”

It was looking like Patrick was maybe marginally reassured, so David continued. “I have an idea. How about we go places I’ve never been? Then we’ll be on a level footing.”

“I don’t really want to go to Antarctica. Or Iowa,” Patrick replied. 

“Those are not the only two places I’ve never been! When we get home, I’ll make a list. Then you can pick the place.”

Patrick smiled at that, fingers stilling on the neck of his beer bottle. “Sounds good. Want to get out of here, now that we’ve finished set one of the questions?”

“Mmhmm.” David scraped up the last bit of pasta from his bowl, and they left. 

*

The motel was decidedly not horrible. It was clearly a family-run place, and well-loved. The shutters on the windows were freshly painted a cheerful, deep blue that matched the bay water. The woman who checked them in at the front desk was friendly, and she recommended the pie shop they’d just visited that afternoon, cementing her status as a Reasonable Person in David’s mind. 

The room smelled surprisingly neutral, and not at all like the visceral scent memory David had of the first time he opened his bathroom’s door back at the Schitt’s Creek Motel, all those years ago. He set his overnight bag on the dresser, pleased. 

He turned to find Patrick unbuttoning his shirt, and staring. 

"I'm going to shower? First?" David noted the hungry look in Patrick's eyes. "I'll, uh, make it fast."

"Please." Patrick was moving onto his pants, fingers quick on the button and zipper. David ducked into the bathroom. 

Fifteen minutes later, David realized he was stalling. He’d scrubbed down at least three times, and was running out of things to plausibly wash without veering into the ridiculous. The insides of his elbows were very clean. 

It was just that today had been kind of a lot. Some of those things he’d told Patrick he hadn’t thought about in years, and he was having trouble making the pivot from naked emotional vulnerability to naked...something else. 

“Hey, are you alright?” Patrick asked, tapping on the other side of the door. 

“Yeah, totally. Just a sec.”

David wanted to do this, of course he did. But then why was he washing between his toes for the fourth time? 

“David,” Patrick said, now from just outside the shower, “Do you maybe want to watch something instead? How does Blue Planet sound?”

Shit. David turned off the tap and pulled back the curtain. “Yes. The ‘Green Seas’ episode, please. Not that one with the blind sharks at the bottom of the ocean and the whale carcass.”

Patrick laughed softly. “You got it. I’ll get it queued. Take your time, hon.”

God, David loved him. 

When David finally emerged, Patrick was already in bed, leaning against the headboard with a steaming mug of tea in hand and laptop open to Netflix, paused on the title card. 

"Where did you get tea at midnight in a town this small?" David asked, confused. “I know you brought your travel tea kit, but where’d you conjure up hot water from?”

“The magical microwave in that cabinet below the TV,” Patrick replied, taking a sip from his mug. “There’s a cup for you on the other nightstand."

"But what about that Slate article you had me read about how microwaving water for tea was a moral outrage and disrespectful to the tea leaves?"

"Then you don't want the tea?" Patrick replied, trolling. 

"I didn't say I don't want the tea. Thank you for the tea." David settled in next to him in bed, taking the proffered mug.

"Want to watch the episode now?"

"Yes please, Patrick."

They watched in silence, drinking their tea, until about halfway through. 

“Can we actually skip the sea urchins part? I hate those little fuckers.”

“Sure,” Patrick answered, with only the barest hint of a grin as he clicked ahead. 

As the credits rolled, David was feeling a lot better. Sea otters nestled in beds of floating kelp on the ocean’s surface helped. 

“You know that nothing you could ever tell me would make me love you any less, right?” Patrick asked. 

David drained the last of his tea, not answering. 

“Seriously?” 

“Well, I don’t know!” David answered, sea-otter-induced calm evaporating as he remembered what had gotten him worked up in the first place. “You say that now, but how can you really be sure in advance? Like you said before, you only know 30% of everything there is to know about me. What if the other 70% is worse, or not worth knowing, or once you know it, you’ll wish you didn’t? Or if makes you see me differently?”

“Is there some specific piece of critical information you’ve been holding back?” Patrick’s tone certainly didn’t sound worried, which was absurd, because how was he so sure David wasn’t a murderer, or a spy, or, God forbid, a Bronie? 

“David, I’m getting the impression that I wasn’t clear before. I may now know everything about you, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to, or that I think there’s any chance I’ll find out something that will be a serious issue.”

“Why, though?”

“Because I trust you, and I like you? Every version of you? Even if things happened in your past that you didn’t like, or people hurt you or you hurt someone else, I want to know about it. If you want to tell me. Whenever you want to tell me. And I also want to hear the good parts - like that story about you and Alexis in India. All of it, David. I want to hear all of it.”

David sighed, and scooted down the bed to lean his head on Patrick’s steady shoulder. Patrick searched for David’s hand beneath the covers and linked their fingers together. 

“Ok, Patrick. Hey, want to do one more question before we go to sleep?”

“Sure.”

David snagged his phone from the nightstand with the hand that wasn’t currently pressed tight to Patrick’s, and handed it over for Patrick to read. 

“Ok,” Patrick began out loud, “‘If a crystal ball could tell you the truth about yourself, your life, the future or anything else, what would you want to know?’”

“Easy. When or if you’ll ever get tired of me. Your turn.”

Patrick looked at him, eyes soft, brow furrowed. He put the phone down beside him, and slid his hand up to David’s jaw, bringing their faces close. “I don’t need a crystal ball, David. I already know the answer to that. I could never get tired of you.” 

Patrick kissed him and kissed him and kissed him, until they both fell asleep. 


	3. Chapter 3

David woke up warm, Patrick tucked securely against his back, hand under David’s shirt on the vulnerable skin of his belly. 

The uneasy, overexposed feeling from last night had passed, and now David was left with just fondness. And a hard dick. He gently slid his hand over Patrick’s, dragging down and cupping both their hands over his cock. Patrick hummed in his ear. David, hand still interlocked with Patrick’s, began to slowly stroke over the fabric of his boxer briefs. He couldn’t help it when he pushed his ass back against Patrick’s hips, testing, just a little. 

“David. You’re feeling better?” Patrick rasped, in David’s favorite iteration of his early-morning voice, turned-on. 

“Mmhmm. Yes. I’m feeling a lot better.”

Patrick snuck his hand underneath the waistband of David’s briefs, seeking out skin. David arched into the touch. 

“Want to do something about this?” Patrick asked, squeezing his cock gently and making David’s breath catch.

“Yes, would you -” David cut off with a gasp, as Patrick thumbed over the slit. 

“Would I what?” Patrick tugged David’s briefs below his balls to get better access. 

“Don’t care. Something, though. Definitely something. Please.”

“Ok, well, if you don’t care.” Patrick took his hands away and slid out of the bed, leaving David’s back chilled in the poorly heated air of the motel room. David flipped to his back, and watched Patrick dig in their shared duffel. Returning to bed, Patrick placed a bottle of lube in David’s palm. 

“And what am I doing with this?” David asked, hopefully.

“Getting yourself off.”

Oh. Huh. Not exactly what David was expecting. But at least Patrick had grabbed the lube he liked best for jerking off - that had been considerate. 

“And what will you be doing?” David inquired. 

“Getting blown.” Patrick smirked at him. 

“Oh you will, will you?”

Patrick’s grin faltered a little. “Unless -”

“No, shit, of course I’m down for that. Or more accurately,  _ up _ for that, if you couldn’t tell.” David gestured down at where his dick was valiantly pointed at the ceiling. “How do you want it?”

“Um.”

Interesting. It was always interesting when Patrick started an answer to a question like that with ‘um.’

“Can I, uh. What about if I fucked your face?” Patrick said, with a grimace. “There’s really no nicer way to say that, is there? No other verb that works. Can’t say ‘make love to your face’ or ‘have sex with your face,’ Jesus, those sound like things a serial killer would say. ‘Do your face’ sounds like I’m going to give you a makeover, which, sort of. Heh. ‘Sit on your chest and put my dick in your mouth over and over’ is just ridiculous...”

“Patrick,” David interrupted him, putting this series of increasingly more terrible phrasing out of its misery.

“Hm?”

“You can fuck my face. And you can call it that too. I’m hardly scandalized.”

Patrick smiled, but then looked down at the blankets, picking at a bit of lint. So there was something else, then. 

“Is there something else?” David prompted. 

“You just look so good, David. I, uh, really want to see it, see it on your face.”

“Oh.  _ Oh _ . Yes. Let’s do that. Although fair warning, I will require an extra twenty minutes in the bathroom to fix my skin. After.”

“I’d expect nothing less.”

Patrick stripped out of his boxers and settled on top of David’s chest, keeping most of his weight on his knees. He braced himself with one hand on the headboard, the other hand around the base of his cock. 

“Open, David.” 

David licked his lips and opened his mouth as instructed. Patrick gave him just the head to work with, so David made the best of that. 

"Touch yourself."

An instruction David was happy to follow. David clicked open the lube with one hand, squeezing some into his palm. Patrick nudged forward slowly, dick sliding along David’s tongue. David moved the hand that wasn’t currently occupied with his own cock to the corded muscle of Patrick’s thigh, feeling it flex as Patrick gently thrust into his mouth. God bless all that steep, uphill hiking Patrick did on the weekends at 5:00 AM while David was thoroughly asleep. 

David’s prioritized his attention on working his tongue and lips over Patrick’s cock, giving his own dick a cursory stroke whenever he could spare a thought. 

“David, let me just - keep touching yourself. I’ll take care of myself, ok?” Patrick said, looking down at him. “You can focus on your dick, on making yourself feel good - that’s what I want. Just let me use your mouth.”

_ Fuck _ , well, alright then. David relaxed his mouth and evened out his breathing, tweaking the angle of his neck on the pillow so that Patrick had easy access, as deep as he wanted to go. Patrick switched his grip from the headboard to David’s hair, gently tugging him into each thrust, and David let it happen, doing his best to focus only on jerking himself off. Instead of being distracting, the rhythm of Patrick fucking into his mouth only brought him closer to the edge. What kind of magic was it, that even when Patrick asked for something for himself, it was so fucking good for him too? 

Sooner than David expected, he was gripping Patrick’s ass with the hand not currently occupied on his own dick, keeping Patrick close, a rude-for-a-motel shout muffled by Patrick’s dick in his throat as he came all over his own hand. 

“Fuck, David - shit. You got off on that, didn’t you - fuck. Just, let me -”

Patrick pulled out, but kept a hand in David’s hair, keeping him where he wanted him. His other hand moved to his dick, stroking it roughly before aiming it. 

“You’re sure? Can I?” Patrick confirmed breathlessly, sweet, sweet man that he was. David nodded vigorously, wanting it. Not wanting it in his nose though - that had happened before. David tipped his chin down, and closed his eyes. 

“Yes, David, fuck.” And with that, David smiled as warm come landed on his cheeks, closed eyes, and forehead, Patrick pressing the head of cock against his lower lip at the end. David licked up what he could reach as Patrick slumped forward bonelessly and pressed a kiss to his well-used mouth.

*

“Ok, question 14. ‘Is there something that you’ve dreamed of doing for a long time, and if so, why haven’t you done it?’” Patrick asked from the passenger seat, twenty minutes into the second half of their trip, David driving. 

David considered his answer as he sipped the coffee that they’d picked up from the pie shop after checking out of the motel, the flavor mixing pleasingly with the delightful raspberry pastry he’d had for breakfast.

“Hmm. Nothing serious, I don’t think. Just idle dreams. Trying out that $2000 fucking machine you won’t let me buy, for one,” David said, considering. God, that thing looked amazing. He could be on his knees, Patrick fucking his mouth like he did this morning, the machine pounding his ass...

“That’s the first thing that comes to mind?” Patrick sounded incredulous. It was clear he hadn’t considered the full range of  _ possibilities _ that purchase could provide.

“...Maybe?”

“There’s nothing else you haven’t done that you still want to do?”

“I mean. I like my life. I’ve done a lot of things before, so my bucket list is pretty short.”

“Well, what’s still on it?” Patrick asked. 

“Huh. I honestly don’t know. Nothing burning. If someone had asked me that ten years ago, I would’ve said something like getting to attend Elton John’s annual Academy Awards viewing party.” David paused, considering. “Actually, I still want to do that. Yes. That’s mine.”

“Oh. That sounds fun, I think?”

“It would definitely be fun. Especially if I got to go with you. Ok, what’s yours?” David asked.

Patrick sipped at his tea. “Something like that, I guess.”

“I don’t believe you. Come on, what have you always wanted to do? Tell me, please.” 

“I might, um. Have a spreadsheet for this.”

“You looked at the questions ahead of time?! When? That’s cheating! Is that cheating?” David still wasn’t quite clear on the ground rules for this game, if there were any. As a game night aficionado, David really should have set the terms when they’d started. That was his mistake. 

“I didn’t look at the questions, David. I just already have a list of things I want to do someday.”

“You do? How did I not know that?” David tried to imagine all the things that could be on this list, given that he knew for a fact it didn’t include a $2000 fucking machine.    
  


“I’ve never told you about it, that’s how.”

“Uh - should that worry me? I mean, you don’t have to tell me what’s on your list, I guess. If you don’t want to.”

“I can. I want to. It’s nothing crazy. I just never wanted you to think I was unsatisfied, or that the life we have together isn’t enough. It is. There’s just - maybe some other things too. That I want.”

“I’m all ears. Tell me,” David said, trying really hard to keep any worry out of his voice. 

Patrick fiddled with his phone. “Alright. Let’s see. These aren’t in any particular order. I’ve had this list for years. I don’t add things to it very often, just sometimes. Some of the things I’ve crossed out because they’ve happened already, so I’ll skip those.”

“Oh no - please don’t skip those. Maybe start with those? I like thinking about you getting things you want.”

“Ok, David.”

“First item. ‘Kiss a guy.’ Well, mission accomplished on that one.”

“I’d say so,” David said, pleased. “Can I ask when you put that on your list?”

“Oh, probably 2004. Senior year of high school. Rachel and I had broken up, I think for the third time?”

“Ah.”

“And yeah, I, uh, wondered, even back then, if the guy thing could be the problem. So I put it on the list.”

“I’m so glad you got to cross that one off,” David said, as warmth bloomed in his chest. 

“Me too, David.”

“Ok, what else is on the list?”

“‘Climb a mountain.’”

“Well, congrats on that one too.”

“I’ve never climbed a mountain, David.”

“What the fuck! Yes, you have! You know how I know? Because I climbed that same mountain when we got engaged. I  _ carried you _ up that mountain, so I get extra mountain credit, too.”

“That trail we hiked in Copeland Forest wasn’t a mountain. It was a hill. A bluff, maybe. But not a mountain,” Patrick said, mouth twisted at the side in a smirk. 

“Do I even want to know what you would consider a mountain? Because I’m telling you right now, that little adventure was and is the closest I’m ever getting to climbing a mountain.”

“I figured. My cousin Ryan and I have a loose plan to go hike Mount Elbert someday.”

“You should do it! To be clear, I am emphatically not coming with you. But you should do it!” Maybe there was a nice spa near the mountain. In some woodsy lodge, reachable by car, of course.

“Ok, I will. Next summer. I’ll do it,” Patrick said, nodding decisively. “The other things on the list are no big deal.”

“Nuh uh. No. I had to tell you about my personal highlights from the late 90’s, you have to tell me about whatever else is on this list.” David looked over at Patrick, noting the discomfort on his face, and the high spots of color in his cheeks. “Correction. You don’t have to tell me. We can stop - you don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to.”

“I’ll tell you. It’s fine. Some of them are silly - like skinny dipping, trying magic mushrooms, flying first class. That sort of stuff. Nothing important.”

David waited for him to continue, forcing himself not to get derailed by the delightful image of Patrick tripping on shrooms.

“But, um. This one. ‘Make more real friends.’ Suffice to say, it’s been on here a long time.”

“You don’t think you have real friends?” David asked, carefully. 

“I know, I’ve got Stevie, and you, obviously. And Alexis I guess, in a way. Ray, sort of. But I mean, other friends. Maybe other gay friends? I don’t know. The guys I knew growing up didn’t really know me, because I didn’t let them. I still don’t really know what it's like, making friends and being, you know, myself.”

“This probably isn’t comforting, but I don’t have many friends that really  _ know _ me, either. Stevie. My family, sure. Maybe it’s something we should both work on. The pool of options in Schitt’s Creek is a little shallow, however.”

“We could branch out. Join the Elmdale Bowling League,” Patrick suggested, completely deadpan, the little fucker. 

“Don’t even joke about that. Ok, next question,” David prompted. 

“Alright. ‘What is the greatest accomplishment of your life?’ That’s an easy one, for me.”

“For me, too. Snagging you, and the store,” David said, completely sure of this. 

“Same. Alright, moving on?”   
  


“Sure.”

“‘What do you value most in a friendship?’” Patrick read off his phone. 

“Ugh. Back to friendship, then,” David complained. “We’ve already determined we both have issues with friendship, excluding literally  _ just _ Stevie. Maybe we’ve already covered this one enough.”

“I don’t know, David - what’s your answer?”

“Fine. A lack of artifice, I guess,” David replied, shrugging and rolling his eyes just a little, as though he was allergic to this question, as well as the corresponding sincerity of his own answer.

“That makes sense. Quite a bit of artifice from people before, right?”

“Right. Yes. Lots. Ok, you?” 

“Hm. Sort of related, I think. Honesty - that’s mine. People who are just themselves, who can’t help being exactly what they are. That way, you know where you stand with them, because they’ll tell you to your face. I think I need that, in a friend.”

“We should make more friends, shouldn’t we?” David asked on a sigh.  _ People _ . There were just so few Stevies and Patricks out there in the world to meet, and David was 95% satisfied with the number of people he already had. But if Patrick wanted friends, David could help. Maybe. He could at least throw a dinner party, one not including Ted’s mail-order lasagna. 

“Maybe we should. Ok, next one is nice. ‘What is your most treasured memory?’ Oh, so easy.”

“Easy? Just like that? What is it?” David asked, curious. 

“When my debate team won regionals. Junior year. The topic was nuclear disarmament.”

David stared at him, and he could feel his eyebrows lifting toward heaven in alarm.

“Ok, fine. When you kissed me, in my car, that first time. That’s it,” Patrick said, soft smile on his face.

“Well, that’s fucking sweet. Jesus, Patrick. That’s a lot better than debate team.”

“Yes, David. Kissing you is a better memory than debate team. Rest assured. I mean, not by much though. We really swept the team representing the idea of nuclear arsenals as deterrence.”

“I’m sure you did,” David said, mockingly, even though he would pay a nearly-fuck-machine amount of money to see that. Maybe Marcy had it on tape...

“And what’s yours?” 

David scratched at the back of his neck. “The morning after we got married. Waking up in our apartment. I was so fucking tired, with a champagne hangover, but you looked so damn good. And we’d gotten  _ married _ . I never thought I’d have that.”

“Geez, David. Who’s the sweet one now?” Patrick said, warm. 

“The person who says ‘geez’ is the sweet one. Indisputably.”

“Ok, David. Want to stop for food? I could use another tea before we start on the back half of the questions.”

“Yes, please. Always. Do you think this town might have more Saskatoon berry pie?” David asked, hopefully. 

“Let’s find out,” Patrick answered. Perfect - Patrick was perfect. 


	4. Chapter 4

“Should I start the next question while you’re eating?” Patrick asked, perched beside David on a picnic table outside the Echo Bay Village Bakery. 

“Depends on the question,” David answered, skewering a stray berry with a plastic fork. 

“Here goes. ‘What is your most terrible memory?’”

“Jesus, no. This pie doesn’t deserve to be subjected to the answer to that question.”

“The pie has ears?”

“...Yes.”

“Ok, David.”

David looked at him sharply. “You’re telling me you want to dive right into that one?”

Patrick took a long drink of his tea, gazing into the middle distance.

“Thought so,” David said with a grimace. 

“I mean, I know what mine is,” Patrick said. “So we didn’t really talk about it at the time. But, during that week after the debacle with Rachel and the barbecue, did you know I drafted a ‘Help Wanted’ ad for the store?”

David set his plate down, eyeing the remainder of crust and filling mournfully. “Um, no. I did not know that. You were planning to.” David could hardly get the words out. “Planning to leave?”

“No. I wasn’t planning to leave. I mean, I did pack, a little. Just one box.”

“That sounds like planning to me.” David’s stomach turned. 

“I wasn’t sure what you wanted, David. I had to be prepared for the worst. I hadn’t heard from you in days - I had no idea what was going to happen when you talked to me again.”

“You really - you really thought I’d ask you to leave? Like, quit the store and everything? Just like that?”

“I don’t know what I thought. If we broke up for good, I wasn’t sure if I could, or should, stay. Or whether it would even be feasible for me to work beside you every day, but not get to actually...you remember how that morning in the store was, when you came back, before -”

“Before Tina Turner made her second appearance in our relationship. Yeah.” David finished for him. 

“But that week of imagining leaving town, starting over again, without you - that’s the worst memory I have.”

David paused before replying, feeling more than a little gutted. 

“You know there wasn’t any scenario where I was going to wreck your life, right? I’m not worth that. No matter what happened with us, I would never...”

Patrick took his hand. “I know. I mean, you are worth that though? If you couldn’t be happy with me in town, I would’ve left.”

“That’s awful, Patrick. I hate that you would have done that, if I’d wanted you to. That’s too much power. I don’t want it. Can I un-know this?”

“Let’s just say it’s probably good that the most you've ever asked from me is a $2000 fucking machine. There isn’t much I wouldn’t do for you.”

David couldn’t hold back a small smile at that. “Are we talking murder-my-enemies loyalty? Or if I asked you to move to Nebraska, you’d go for it?”

“David. If you asked me to move to Nebraska, I’d do it. But not before you got a psych eval.”

“Fair enough. Glad there are some safeguards in place, then.”

"Not many, honestly."

"Mm. Going to un-know that. Like, you'd commit actual crimes? Nevermind, forget I asked."

Patrick smirked. 

'Alright, my turn. Did I ever tell you about that time I thought Alexis was dead?"

"Uh, no?" 

"Worst 22 hours of my life," David said, before picking up his paper plate and polishing off the rest of his pie. 

When Patrick neglected to read the next question and put him out of his misery, David continued. "Ah. So I'm telling the whole story then. Ok. So. This includes a Sebastien mention, so apologies for that."

"It's fine, David. My only unfinished business with that guy is punching him in the face."

David smiled at that. What a picture that would make. 

“So it was maybe 2009, Manhattan. I was sort of dating Sebastien at the time, I guess. If lackluster fucking for a few days between his photo shoots in Sri Lanka or Tasmania or wherever counts as dating. It probably doesn’t. Anyway, Alexis was in Tokyo. You remember that story she told last Christmas about escaping the Yakuza in six inch heels?”

Patrick nodded. 

“The part she didn’t mention was that she’d tried to call me that night, from some sketchy hostel, and I  _ didn’t answer _ . I  _ always  _ answered, when Alexis called. Because who the fuck knew what she was going to need, or what kind of trouble she was going to be in? But that weekend, I. Well. Sebastien had just gotten back from Brazil, and he’d smuggled in some ayahuasca that he’d gotten from some shaman there who showed him how to brew it. He said he needed to ‘cleanse his creative, sexual, and spiritual self in the shadow realm,’ or some shit, and uh, invited me to join him in that endeavor. So I did. And I didn’t answer Alexis when she called.”

“Ok, so why did you think she was dead? And I’m not going to ask about ayahuasca. You know I have no idea what that is.”

“Let’s keep it that way. And the reason I thought she was dead was because the embassy in Tokyo said she was. I got a call from my dad the morning after the ayahuasca adventure. I was still pretty messed up, but I went straight to JFK and booked a non-stop flight to Japan. Took me eight more hours once I arrived to track her down. I must’ve tried thirty places before I found one where the front desk person could confirm they had checked in a frantic, blonde girl at 3:00 AM. Sure enough, there was Alexis in the middle of the hostel bar, regailing an all-girls touring K-Pop group with her  _ hilarious _ near-death adventure stories. I could’ve killed her, but I was so fucking relieved. Pretty sure I cried? After effects of the hallucinogenics.”

“Totally. Just the drugs. Not your deep and abiding love for your sister.”

David sniffed. “Definitely not that.”

Patrick gently nudged his knee into David’s. “You’re a good brother. You know that, right?”

“Oh, I definitely do. Alexis owes me reparations for the shit she’s put me through. But that weekend. I never want to go through anything like that again. I think it’s a big part of why I don’t want kids. I think Alexis put me through more worry in a single weekend than a lot of parents go through in a lifetime.”

“I think you’re right. I don’t think you need to worry about her much anymore though.”

“Maybe not. Thank God for Ted. And Alexis’ own journey of personal growth,” David acknowledged, stretching and getting up from the table. “Should we get back on the road then? What’s the next question?”

“Let me check.” Patrick glanced down at his phone. “‘If you knew that in one year you would die suddenly, would you change anything about the way you are now living? Why?’”

David thought about the question as they walked to the car and as he pulled back onto the highway.

“That’s an interesting one as a follow-up to the ayahuasca-Alexis-Tokyo story. If someone had asked me that question then, I probably would have gone into an eight day catatonic panic attack. But now?”

“I know what you mean. I definitely hope neither of us die in a year, but at the same time, there’s nothing I’d change.”

“Maybe opening the store later on weekends?” David asked, hopefully.

“Not even that,” Patrick replied, with a quick grin. “Next question. ‘What does friendship mean to you?’”

A memory came to him, maybe unearthed by Patrick talking about that week after the infamous barbecue. “Stevie said something years ago, about being ‘still here’ even though she knew all the ugly shit about me. I think that’s it, for me. Someone who’s ‘still there,’ for all of it.”

“That’s kind of beautiful, David. Stevie would be horrified.”

“Don’t you dare tell her. I know you guys have that text chain I’m still not privy to.”

Patrick’s answering grin was worrisome.

“Ok, and what about you? What does friendship mean to you?” David asked, hoping to derail whatever plan was fermenting in Patrick’s mind. 

“Someone who will drive me to the airport,” Patrick said, decisively. 

“What? Like a cab driver?” David asked, confused.    
  


“You’re telling me you’ve never been driven to the airport. By a friend.”

David hesitated before replying. “...No. That’s what money is for.”

“I think Stevie would drive you to the airport. She’d complain about it, but she’d do it.”   
  


David reflected on that. “She did drive me around a lot when my family first got to town, before the family car.”

“See, there you go. Stevie’s a good friend. We should send her a card. Or an edible arrangement.”

“ _ Don’t you dare. _ ”

Patrick was already typing menacingly into his phone, shit-eating grin on his face. “Too late.” 

“90 minutes to Sault Ste. Marie. Come on, fire off another question!” David said. 

“Do you think Stevie prefers muskmelon or out of season strawberries in her fruit bouquets?” Patrick asked, clearly not listening. 

“Goddammit, Patrick.”

“Fine, fine. It’s sent, anyway. She’ll get her delivery tomorrow. Alright, let’s see. ‘What roles do love and affection play in your life?’ What does that mean, exactly?”

“I don’t know. Is it something like how I can’t sleep alone anymore? Or how you rub my lower back and I rub your feet after a long day in the store? Or how you keep my coffee in stock in our kitchen, and I make sure you never run out of English Breakfast? Or how we know each other’s mom’s birthdays and always send flowers? That sort of thing? Is that love and affection?”

“...Yeah. That’s love and affection, David.”

The silence hung for a moment, warm and still. David reached his hand over to lace his fingers with Patrick’s on the center console. 

Patrick cleared his throat before continuing. “Um, ‘Alternate sharing something you consider a positive characteristic of your partner. Share a total of five items each.’ I’m going first. You’re generous. With your time, your affection, your body - all of it.”

“Uh, excuse you - that’s hot? And we’re driving? And now I want to pull over at that abandoned gas station over there and show you exactly how generous I can be.”

Patrick shifted in his seat, gaze heated. “Your turn.”

“You’re so fucking competent. Maybe that doesn’t sound flattering, but it is. You have no idea how many people I’ve met - famous people, ‘important’ people - who were so shockingly incompetent. You inherently know how to do everything? When to change the furnace filter, how to poach an egg, how taxes work...God. And when you don’t know how to do something, you figure it out. You have no idea how hot that is.”

Patrick looked pleased. “You’re smart.”

David waited for an additional explanation, or a qualifier, or something. “...That’s it?”

“Yup. You’re smart, David. You’re a fast learner, you can visualize the shape of something in your mind before you’ve put any pen to paper, you can read people in a way that’s sometimes startlingly accurate. You can predict what people will want, what they’ll respond to. It makes you insane in bed. You already knew that though. But I mean more generally. You’re really smart. In every way. Except for maybe vehicle maintenance.”

“Had to throw in a little neg there at the end, didn’t you,” David sassed, trying and failing to cover the sincerity in his voice at this line of praise. Suffice to say, he hadn’t gotten the impression, growing up, that he was anyone’s definition of ‘smart.’ That Patrick could think he was though. That was something.

"You're brave," David parried back. Patrick's teeth clicked together, audibly. "You've called it running away, but what you did - you threw your old life out a window and started completely over. That takes a bravery I don't understand. It took me over a year to apply for a job at the Blouse Barn, if you recall. You invested in the business of a guy you didn't know, who left you stoned voicemails and didn't understand sports metaphors."

Patrick laughed, into his hand. 

"You played guitar and sang your heart out in front of  _ people _ . As the emcee, you performed a startlingly hot number in white face paint, trusting Stevie not to kick you in the face for that cartwheel move I still can't believe she pulled off. I could go on. You're brave."

David spared a glance away from the highway. Patrick was blushing, mouth agape. 

"So that's how it's going to be, then - competitively escalating compliments. You're good, David."

"I know, I'm excellent at compliments."

"No, I mean, you're  _ good. _ "

Oh, shit. 

"You give people more than one person should be able to spare. You bring out the best in everyone, and beauty into the world. You help people become who the really are. That's what you did for me. You're good, David."

David suddenly needed to blink back tears. Which was just unsafe driving, that's what it was. David slowed the car down, and pulled over onto the gravel shoulder. Patrick looked at him quizzically, but before he could make some smartass comment, David grabbed the back of his neck and hauled him in for a deep kiss. He threaded his fingers into Patrick's hair and tugged him closer. 

Patrick pulled a hairsbreadth away from his mouth to murmur, "Seatbelts, David."

David reeled him back in, feeling around for the button to release his own seatbelt, before reaching across the console to Patrick’s, letting his fingers skim over the front of Patrick's jeans as though he'd gotten lost. 

“David,” Patrick whispered against his mouth, “You owe me a compliment.”

“You’re a troll.”

“That’s not a compliment.” Patrick nipped at David’s bottom lip, tonguing over his teeth. 

David pulled back slightly, dazed. “Um.”

“Oh, you can’t think of anything?” Patrick smirked at him, fingers tracing over the inseam of David’s sweats. 

“You’re challenging.”

“Is that a compliment?”

“Yes.”

Patrick shifted his attention to David’s neck, sucking a kiss just below his jaw. “Tell me how that’s a compliment.”

“You push. Mm. That’s good, keep doing that,” David said, as Patrick’s teeth scraped over the tendon on the side of his neck. “You challenge me. You know when to push and when to back off. You’re never boring - you’re quick, and sharp witted, and can keep up with even Stevie, which is saying something.”

Patrick tongued over the hollow at the base of his throat. 

“I believe it’s your turn,” David said, head tipping back onto the headrest. 

Patrick pulled back an inch, eyes dark. "You're beautiful." Patrick's hand skated teasingly over his cock, sweatpants hardly thick enough to prevent David from shivering at the touch. 

"I think we need an emptier stretch of highway for what those words do to me," David said, eyes closed. 

"We're never going to make it to the pottery festival, are we?" 

"Not if you call me beautiful again."

"You're beautiful, David."

David scanned their surroundings, looking for...there. A gravel frontage road, just a little ways off. He eased the car back into drive, and pulled back onto the highway. Patrick's hand eased off, back to tracing his inner thigh. If David was young and stupid and 21 again, he'd ask for road head. But he wanted to live, so he guided the car onto the narrow road, and pulled off next to a cluster of aspens.

Before he could decide between the relative makeout spot merits of the backseat (cramped) vs. the grass outside (bugs), Patrick was out the passenger door, coming around to the driver’s side, and opening David’s door.

“What did you have in mind? I have some concerns I’d like to raise about bugs. Bugs that may be present outside,” David said.

“Feet on the ground please, David. I want to get my mouth on you, but it just doesn’t work over the center console. And we’re grown men. The backseat just isn’t ideal anymore. I promise to shield you from the bugs.”

“My hero.” David hurried to comply, shoving his pants and underwear down to his ankles and setting his feet on either side of Patrick, where he knelt on the ground. He loved this man, not least of all because he didn’t ask David to get road dirt on his favorite Rick Owens drop crotch pants. 

“God, you’re beautiful, David.”

“Keep saying that and this isn’t going to take long at all,” David said, honestly. 

“That’s probably for the best. We have places to be, after all.”

Before David could fire off a retort to that, Patrick leaned forward and took nearly the entirety of David’s cock into his mouth. Maybe David should’ve been embarrassed at the narcissism involved in getting so hard to a couple of compliments, but Patrick didn’t seem to mind, judging by the hand he was currently working into his own jeans. 

“I hope you have extra pants in the trunk,” David couldn’t help but remark.

Patrick pulled off. “Is this not working for you? If you’re thinking about the dirt on my knees, I must not be doing a good enough job.”

David slid both hands around to the back of Patrick’s head, dragging him back onto his cock. Patrick went willingly, mouth sliding down easily. David moved one hand to Patrick’s face, thumb at the corner of his mouth, loving the feeling of the muscles there working so hard. Patrick reached up to grab David’s free hand, bringing it to the back of his head again in an obvious signal.

“You want it like that?”

Patrick hummed around him in affirmation and stopped the rhythm he’d set, clearly waiting for David to take over. David gently tugged the short strands of hair at the base of his skull, pulling him in and pushing him off in long, deep strokes. Patrick’s mouth slackened, and the focused wrinkle in between his brows smoothed out as he let David take control.

David noticed the hand Patrick had wrapped around himself had gone still. David reached down to take it, slipping three fingers into his own mouth to get them wet. 

“Touch yourself too, hon - I’ll take care of your mouth,” David instructed.

Patrick groaned messily around him at that, returning his now-wet hand to his dick. 

David started shorter, deeper thrusts at that, making sure he occasionally gave Patrick enough time to catch his breath, loving the way his cock head bumped into the back of Patrick’s throat in this position. There was something so ungodly hot about his clean-cut spouse on his knees in the dirt on the side of the road for him. Patrick tightened his lips around him, sucking hard as David pulled him off again, and with that, David was coming, both hands pulling Patrick forward, as deep as he could go, pulsing against the back of Patrick’s mouth and down his throat. When he’d finished and Patrick had swallowed around him, Patrick slid off, leaning heavily against David’s leg. His hand was still flying on his dick, and when he came with a groan into the dirt beneath him, he bit down hard on the sensitive skin of David’s inner thigh. 

“Who’s the beautiful one now?” David murmured, petting at his hair. 

Patrick looked up at him, glazed. “Is that my fourth compliment? Plagiarizer.”

“No. Your next compliment is ‘persistent.’ You go after what you want. Clearly.”

“Mm. Can’t argue with that.”

“And for good measure, your fifth one is confident. Never met someone with such well-deserved confidence before. It’s so fucking attractive.” 

Patrick only hummed in response, barely awake.

“Let’s get you back in the car, yeah? Let me get you some pants too,” David said, gently tugging Patrick to his feet. After he poured a boneless Patrick back into the passenger seat, and Patrick’s head had bonelessly fallen back against the headrest, David rooted around in the trunk for wet wipes and a fresh set of boxers and jeans. 

When he returned to Patrick’s side of the car, he carefully squatted on the ground beside the open passenger side door to clean off Patrick’s dick and hand, still lightly wrapped around the base. He then carefully removed his shoes and socks, and slid his boxers and ruined jeans down and off. 

“Are you dressing me?” Patrick slurred.

“Mmhmm.”

“That’s hot, David. Why is that hot?”

“Aftercare is always hot,” David replied, easing fresh underwear and jeans up Patrick’s thighs.

“Everything is hot with you.”

“You’re blow job drunk. Can’t trust anything you say,” David replied, relacing Patrick’s mountaineering boots.

“Not drunk. It’s true.” Patrick yawned. 

David walked around the car and settled back in the driver’s seat. He leaned over to scritch a hand through Patrick’s hair. Patrick hummed in return. 

“Want to nap while I drive us the rest of the way?” David offered.

“Yes please. Can’t fall asleep yet though. Gotta tell you how you’re resilient.”

“Resilient?” David asked, confused and remembering clearly a multi-day panic attack that involved a mortifying trip to Ted’s vet clinic when he and his family had first arrived in town. 

Patrick’s swung his head around to make bleary eye contact as David pulled the car back onto the highway. “Are you kidding me. Your life falls apart. You build a new one. In Schitt’s Creek, of all places. With me.”

“ _ Because _ of you, you mean,” David corrected. 

“Nope. Not true. Because of  _ you _ , David. Resilient. That’s what you are. That's who you are.”

"Fuck, Patrick."


	5. Chapter 5

Bag of caramel corn in one hand, phone in the other, David read off the next question as he and Patrick made their way from the fair’s entrance and concessions area to the first row of vendors.

“‘How close and warm is your family? Do you feel your childhood was happier than most other people’s?’”

Before answering, Patrick ran a careful finger across the deep emerald glazing on a bird bath as they passed the first stall. 

"Too big for the store, right?" David noted.

"Yeah. Could be neat if we built a patio out back like we talked about, though. Gardening and outdoor home wares, maybe?"

"Could be neat. You want me to take this question first?"

“No, I'll start. When you’re an only child, it sometimes feels like there’s a spotlight on you. At least, that’s how it was for me. Your parents’ faces are kind of always turned toward you, with no siblings to distract them. So yeah, my parents and I were very close when I was growing up, and they’re very warm, but maybe too close? Or too warm? There just wasn’t space. For me to...I don’t know.”

They stopped in front of a vendor selling terracotta wind chimes. David admired the delicate detail work, and waited for Patrick to continue.

“All that watching. I guess it sort of made me attuned to other people’s expectations of me. I got a little obsessed with doing what they wanted, being who they wanted, and got pretty lost. As you know. It sounds like I’m saying I wish they’d neglected me a little. But I guess, yeah? Sort of? God, this makes me sound so ungrateful.”

David shook his head. “You’re not ungrateful. So what about the second half of the question?”

“Oh, yeah. As far as whether my childhood was happier than other people’s - sure. If we’re selecting for a random sampling of white, Irish Catholic, middle class, Canadian families, we did just fine. Nothing bad happened. We went on summer vacations. They came to my baseball games. It’s not their fault I wasn’t...happy. I feel like an asshole.” 

Patrick examined a shelf of crackle glazed dinnerware. “These mugs are nice. Mugs make good Christmas gifts. I think these would be popular.”

“So we’re talking about the mugs, then? Those are nice. I like the monochrome ones.”

“I never would’ve guessed,” Patrick replied, dryly. 

“I’ve never thought about being an only child that was before. Alexis certainly drew the majority of my parents’ limited nurturing energy growing up, so I would’ve killed for some of that attention and focus you’re talking about. But I can see what you mean, too. Maybe we both would have benefited from a middle ground.”   
  


“Mmhmm. Ok, you. Close, warm, happier than other families?” Patrick asked, checking the price tag on a set of chip and dip trays. 

“No, no, and no. Next?”

“Come on, David.”

“Ok, fine. I’m sticking with a flat ‘no’ on those first two, at least until maybe a year after we moved here? But I’ll amend my last answer. Going by your random sampling method of families in our cohort, tax bracket, whatever - we were definitely happier. What do you think of those teapots over there?”

“They’re beautiful, but do you think enough people brew tea that way?” Patrick replied, sensibly. 

“Hmm. Good point. Let’s get the vendor’s card, just in case.”

“So you were happier, you think?” 

“In the sense that my parents loved each other, no one went to prison for insider trading or solicitation or wire fraud, and that no one in my family gave a fuck about the genitals of the people I slept with, sure. Happier.”

“They really do love each other, don’t they, your parents?” Patrick observed. 

“They really do.”

They strolled ahead to the next stall. “Now, what about these geometric vases? Could double as an up-sell item whenever someone buys flowers,” David suggested. 

“I like that.”

They approached the vendor, a woman in her 60’s with a name tag reading “Alice.” She had curly, silver hair held back from her face by glasses attached to a very on-brand-for-an-art-fair beaded chain. 

“What can I do for you boys? You like the vases?”

David gave the pitch, the practiced words flowing naturally as he complimented the clean lines and elegant shapes of her pieces, and explained the Apothecary’s consignment system. They walked away after exchanging cards and securing an enthusiastic promise to follow up next week. 

“You’re so good at that,” Patrick remarked. 

“So I still impress you?” David preened, just a little.

“Now you’re just fishing.”

“Definitely.” David pointed out the pet food and water dishes in the next stall. “Those are unfairly beautiful. But we can’t have people thinking the store is animal friendly, God.”

“Heaven forbid. Although, now that I’m thinking about it, homemade dog food is a pretty big trend right now.”

“I am not carrying raw meat slurry in our store.”

“Fair enough. You're probably right. The smell might not mix well with that new autumn cologne we just got in stock from the Mennonites," Patrick said with a grin, clearly knowing how the olfactory hellscape he'd just described would make David want to set himself on fire. "Next question?” 

"Please. Here goes. 'How do you feel about your relationship with your mother?'" David read aloud. "Should we restrict our answers to the current iteration of that relationship? I think we've covered the past pretty deeply."

"Sounds good. Want to go first? Also, the map says there's a youth art tent on the north edge of the park. Want to head that way?" Patrick asked. 

"Sure. But if there's anything we like, you'll -"

"Let you take the lead. Yes. I know," Patrick interrupted. "You're very relatable to the youth of today."

"Thank you so much. Your sincerity is overpowering. Ok. My relationship with my mother. It's good, I think. Definitely better than it was. I mean, we've always been close, in a way, but it's healthier now. I'm so proud of her? Does that sound weird?"

"No, that's not weird. Why are you proud?"

"She cares about people differently now. Those soap opera fan conventions she does, to raise money for the local theater productions, for one. Her running for reelection to town council. Growing up, I was always proud of being her son in a public-facing way - she's always been beautiful, glamorous, and all that. I think she was proud of those same kinds of things in me. Not that I was or am beautiful."

"We've already established that I think you're beautiful, David."

"Oh hell, not this again. We're in  _ public _ , Patrick." David threw his empty popcorn bag in a trash can, and linked his arm with Patrick's. "But I think we're proud of each other for better reasons now, you know? So the whole relationship is better."

"That makes complete sense to me."

"Your turn," David prompted.

"I think my mom likes you better than me," Patrick answered as they entered the youth art tent. 

David was so aghast at this answer that he nearly ran smack into a table of precariously balanced tea cups. "Excuse me?"

"You guys talk all the time. It's so natural. She loves you. I mean, she loves me too, I know that. It's just different."

"You know we only talk about you, right? And maybe sunscreen and wrinkle cream and that sort of stuff. But mainly you." David examined a rack of delicate ceramic earrings, thinking they looked very Alexis.

"...No. I didn't know that."

"She asks questions. I tell her stories about you, about us. The clean ones."

"I'd hope you'd only share the clean ones. Wouldn't want my mother knowing about...a lot of other things she doesn't need to know about."

"I promise. It's all G rated. And flattering."

Patrick scratched the back of his neck. "So yeah. The relationship is good. She knows me now. But I should call her more, so she doesn't have to hear everything secondhand."

"I think she'd like that. Your mom is lovely."

"Thanks, David. Speaking of my mom, her birthday is coming up. Do you think she'd like these coasters?"

"Mmhmm. The ones with the leaf imprints, definitely. Very Marcy."

Patrick pulled out his card and paid for the set, while David checked out the decorative tiles across the aisle. They looked to be abstract seascapes, done in muted blues and grays. They were beautiful, and David wanted them. He wasn't sure if they'd work in the store, but he knew just where he'd put them in their apartment. They reminded him of Patrick, somehow - they exuded both calm and depth. Seeing that Patrick was still mid-conversation with the coasters artist, David quickly purchased a set of four tiles and had them carefully wrapped, stashing them in his shoulder bag before Patrick turned around.

"What do you want to see next?" Patrick asked, turning around just as David was turning the clasp on his bag closed. 

"There's a wheel throwing demonstration in ten minutes - want to check that out?

Patrick agreed, and they started off in the direction indicated on the map. 

"Ready for another question?" David asked.

"Go for it."

"Ok. 'Make three true “we” statements each. For instance, 'We are both in this room feeling ...' or in our case, both in this  _ very  _ idyllic, autumnal park setting, feeling..." David modified. 

"We are both feeling comfortable. How's that?" Patrick offered first.

"Huh. That's true. Isn't that something - spending two days talking about our mothers and our worst memories, and still you're right. I'm comfortable. I'd be more comfortable with some of that apple cider over there, though."

Patrick laughed at him, and bought them two ciders from a beverage cart.

"Mm, that's delicious. Ok, my turn. We're both feeling known. Is that cheesy?" David asked. 

"Doesn't matter. It's accurate. You know enough about me to blackmail me really effectively now."

"What a charming way to put that."

"I try. Alright. We're both feeling safe," Patrick said.

"Which is saying something, as Stevie's in charge of the store right now, and who knows what could be happening. The store could be underwater. There could be a town-wide blackout, and all the cheese has spoiled. My mom could've shoplifted all her favorite skincare products." 

"David. I'm pretty sure someone would have told us about the first two, and for that last one, we're just going to have to accept that that's certainly happened."

"You're right. Does your quarterly budget spreadsheet have a line item for my mom's thievery, and if so, how much is budgeted?

"You don't want the answer to that," Patrick replied cryptically. 

"Ok, fine. We're both feeling relaxed. Or at least I was, before the spectre of a town-wide disaster afflicting the store was raised."

"You raised it! But yeah, relaxed. Hard to be tense when it looks like a postcard out here. How about 'curious'? I mean, I still love learning things about you, and I'm curious what else I'm going to get to find out."

David didn't answer immediately, as they'd reached the demonstration area. An unreasonably good looking man, mid-thirties, was behind the wheel, working on what appeared to be a large vase. Wet clay was smeared up to his elbows, which should have been gross, but instead was deeply, deeply hot. His face was creased in concentration, dark hair falling into his eyes. The smooth and coordinated movements of his hands and toned arms were really...something. David glanced over at Patrick, and noticed with satisfaction that Patrick's mouth was slightly ajar, eyes a little glazed over.

"I'm going to hazard a guess and say we're both feeling more than a little turned on," David murmured into his ear. 

Patrick nodded vigorously. "You think maybe there are some pottery classes we could take in Elmdale? I suddenly have a burning need to see you doing what that guy is doing right now."

"I don't think I'd look as good doing it."

"Yes you would, to me," Patrick said appraisingly. 

David grinned, and read off the next question as they both appreciated the sight in front of them. "'Complete this sentence: 'I wish I had someone with whom I could share...'"

"Hmm? Can you repeat that?" Patrick said, eyes not leaving the demonstration artist.

David laughed. He loved it when he got to witness Patrick be a little gobsmacked by knee-jerk attraction. There was no threat in it - Patrick wasn't going to run away with the hot guy from the pottery festival. He repeated the question. 

"Huh. I have no idea. There's really not anything I don't share with you. Wait. My love of improv."

"You're fucking with me," David said, praying.

"Yes. I honestly can't think of anything. You?"

"Nothing big. I guess sometimes I miss art, the way I experienced it in New York I mean, the types of museums and galleries I went to, that sort of thing. I miss that. Most of the people were terrible, but some of them really weren't, and I, I don't know."

Patrick didn't reply right away. 

"I'm sorry I can't give you that, not exactly that way anyway, David."

David took his hand and led them away from the crowd watching the hot potter, stopping beneath the fire-red canopy of a maple tree. 

"If it's one or the other, Patrick, it's no question. I'd rather live in an artless cardboard box with you than have all that back."

"We live in an artless cardboard box, then," Patrick replied wryly.

"You know what I mean. No. We don't. Our lives are beautiful." And David meant it. 

"Ok, but why couldn't you have that too, at least sometimes? We can afford it now, if you wanted to go back to New York sometimes. At least annually. Especially if I reduced your mom's stealing budget."

David's initial impulse was to deny, say he didn't need trips to New York, that he was perfectly content. But. "Really? Would you come with me?"

"Of course I would," Patrick said. "If you wanted me to."

"Why the fuck wouldn't I want you to come?"

"I don't know. I mean, I'm not really literate in that world, David."

"Why would that matter? You like beautiful things too. You have good taste. I value your artistic opinions." At Patrick's skeptical look, David added. "I value your artistic opinions  _ now. _ "

Patrick smiled. "Let's go to New York. Plan it out, I'll write the budget.”

“The words ‘I’ll write the budget’ have never sounded so romantic.”

“Glad I still do it for you,” Patrick quipped. 

“You do indeed. Alright, another question and another lap around the booths?”

“Sounds good. I’ll read the next one.” Patrick pulled out his phone and tapped back to the original source article. “I think we’re going to have to tweak this one. ‘If you were going to become a close friend with your partner, please share what would be important for him or her to know.’ How about, let’s rewind to when you first came into Ray’s to get your business license. What was important for us to know about each other back then?”

“Oh. Well. Hm. I think maybe you didn’t know, at first, that I was...serious. About. Things. Business things. You things,” David answered, checking out some abstract sculptures he hadn’t noticed on the first pass. Too high brow. 

“Your business didn’t have a name, and you didn’t know what it sold, in my defense.”

“No, no defense needed. I didn’t make it easy to take me seriously at first.”

“I took you seriously. At least from the seventh voicemail onward,” Patrick teased. “What do you think of these spoon rests?”

“They’re pretty, but maybe too practical. Nobody wants a spoon rest for their birthday. Is that the voicemail where I talked about the sand and stone palette?”

“Yes. You were very serious in that voicemail. If I remember correctly, there was a two minute explanation about the difference between ecru and beige.”

“Even stoned, I’m still an artist. What can I say.”

“To be fair, I don’t think you took me seriously either, right away,” Patrick hedged. 

“What?! I totally took you seriously. Maybe too seriously. Your button down shirts and practical shoes were very intimidating to me.”

“But did you think I was serious about the store, at first? Or about you?”

“Uh, maybe not quite right away. But definitely when you started getting money for the store. That I took  _ very _ seriously. And when you gave me a very nicely wrapped gift for my birthday.”

“I see.” Patrick smirked at him. “Money and gifts.”

“It’s not my fault that one of my love languages is - wait. No. I will not be baited into this again. Ok, do we have all the business cards from the vendors we liked?”

“Yup. Should we hit the road?” Patrick asked, smiling still. 

“Yeah. If we don’t stop for any sex breaks on the way back, I think we’ll get back to town before the moths are out,” David said with a determined nod.

“A key consideration. We’ll have to do our best.”


	6. Chapter 6

“I think we’re going to have to tweak the next question a little,” David said, one foot tucked underneath him on the passenger seat as Patrick drove them home. “It’s supposed to be, ‘Tell your partner what you like about them; be very honest this time, saying things that you might not say to someone you’ve just met,’ but I think we should go with what we liked about each other at  _ first _ .”

“Sounds good. So what did you like about me at first, David?” Patrick asked, corner of his mouth upturned in a grin.

“Your ass looked pretty great. You were bent over a table the second time I came into Ray’s office to see you.”

“So sweet.”

“Well, the question said to be honest! And to say things we wouldn’t say to someone we just met. I wouldn’t say that to someone I just met. That would be rude,” David said.

“Of course.”

“I liked other things too! You were. You were - your forearms looked really good. You had your sleeves rolled up.”

“I’m sensing a theme here,” Patrick commented.

“It’s not my fault that you’re very attractive. Ok, what did you like about me at first?”

“Um,” Patrick paused. 

“Nothing, got it. I’m an acquired taste - it’s fine,” David interjected. It was definitely not fine.

“No, that’s not it. I liked everything about you.”

“Going to need you to be more specific,” David pressed. 

“Your hands, ok? I really liked your hands. You talk with your hands, a lot. And, um, your mouth. I really liked that too. Thought about it, later. That night.”

“Patrick Anthony Brewer. Are you telling me you had impure thoughts about my hands and mouth in the peaceful dark of Ray Butani’s spare bedroom the night after we met?”

“I may have.”

“I love knowing this,” David crowed. 

“I liked other things about you! You were, you were interesting. And. And -”

“Mmhmm?” David was grinning now. Patrick’s hands clenched around the steering wheel. 

“Ok, fine. You were really fucking hot. That was the main thing I noticed at first, alright? But that was a big deal for me! I’d seriously never jerked off thinking about some guy I’d just met until the day I met you.”

“Excuse you, that is a huge compliment, and super romantic, and I can believe you think I’d be upset at the idea that the thing you liked most about me at first was my appearance,” David admitted.

“Good. Because I liked a lot of other things too, soon after that. Like when you explained about the store’s consignment model. All I could think in that moment was something like, ‘Oh shit, he’s smart too.’ I knew I was in trouble. And that I was going to do something impulsive to try and spend more time with this beautiful, smart guy with the monochrome wardrobe and confusing pants.”

“My pants aren’t confusing.”

“Some of them are.”

“Fine. Ok. You laughed at me in just the right way, in just the right amount. I liked that too. Almost immediately,” David said.

“I love laughing at you.”

“I’ve gathered. Next question. ‘Share with your partner an embarrassing moment in your life.’ Oh God. Too many options. And yours are going to be so fucking wholesome. You go first, so I can wallow and summon the strength.”

“Did I tell you about the time, sophomore year of college, when I called my Intro to Eastern Religions professor ‘dad’?”

“Seriously,  _ that’s _ your most embarrassing moment?” 

“No! The question said  _ an _ embarrassing moment. Not the most embarrassing moment. There’s a difference.”

“You can do better.”

“Fine. When Stevie showed up, at the cafe. When I took you out for your birthday.”

“Ah.”

“God, I was so embarrassed. Sincerely considered climbing through the cafe bathroom window and leaving town. Two possible interpretations immediately presented themselves, both humiliating. Either, you knew it was a date all along, and invited Stevie so as to convey the depths of your lack of interest. Or you had no idea it was a date and thought inviting friends to dinner was expected, which would have meant my months of attempting to flirt with you completely missed the mark.”

“There was a third option,” David said.

Patrick glanced over at him, raising his eyebrows. 

“I thought  _ maybe _ it was a date. But what if I had been wrong? Stevie was an emotional flak jacket. Just in case.” David studied Patrick’s forearms, distractingly on display beneath his rolled up flannel shirt. “But I wanted it to be a date. In case that wasn’t obvious.”

“I wanted it to be a date too, David. In case that wasn’t obvious. Your turn.”

“...Right. An embarrassing moment. You already know about the parasailing incident with Anderson Cooper. That one’s up there.”

“Something I already know about doesn’t count.”

“You just made that rule up! On question number...” David checked his phone. “Twenty nine! And besides, I was present for your embarrassing moment!”

“I don’t make the rules.”

“You just did! Ugh. Fine. Ok. Did I ever tell you about the time I got broken up with three times in three days?”

"No."

"Two were the same person. The third was a misunderstanding. All of it was awful," David said.

"But was it  _ embarrassing _ ?"

"I mean, it was definitely humiliating. But. Maybe 'embarrassing' isn't the right word. Let's see. When I was nineteen, I met Jewel at a pop-up vegan butcher shop in Brooklyn. I asked her out, and she said yes. I must've looked older - I'd recently been growing out my stubble a bit. We went to this super exclusive sake bar in the east village, and I got  _ carded _ . I'd forgotten my fake ID at home. She patted my cheek, called me a sweet kid, and left with the bartender."

"That doesn't sound so bad."

"Ugh. Blew my chance with Jewel."

"I'm so sorry. Lucky for me though," Patrick said, smiling. 

"Ah, yes. Lucky indeed that I didn't run away with Jewel at nineteen. Definitely missed a love connection there. And I had so much to offer. Asymmetrical haircut and all."

"You always had a lot to offer, David."

"Hm. You say that now. Moving on. 'When did you last cry in front of another person? By yourself?'" David asked. 

"Oh man, I have no idea. It's been a long time. Maybe when my dog died. I was around 12? So it was...1998. You?"

"In front of another person - two weeks ago, with Stevie."

Patrick gave him a sidelong glance. 

"What? Cool Runnings was on. You were at baseball practice. I was eating suspicious store-bought hummus from the back of Stevie's fridge, and we'd had too many old fashioneds. I can't be held responsible for those tears."

"You cried because of a sports movie?" Patrick asked, clearly delighted.

"I will not be shamed. That movie is a treasure. And in my defense, Stevie cried too. But don’t tell her I told you that, or she’ll kill me."

Patrick laughed. "Ok, David. What about the last time you cried by yourself?”

“Mm. Must we, though?”

“We in fact, must.”

“But I haven’t cried alone in a long time. I can barely remember it. Hardly at all. Just a sad, wet, blur of a memory.”

Patrick waved him on to continue, apparently unsatisfied.

David picked at a loose thread on the stitching of the passenger seat cushion. 

"Just a few tears the night after your parents' first visit. That's all."

"But you weren't alone then - you were at the apartment with me that night."

David nodded. "Yup. I was. Had a good cry in your shower after you fell asleep. Didn't want you to worry. It had just been an intense day, and I didn't want to take away from it, for you. You'd fallen asleep so peacefully. All was right in the world for you. I wasn't going to spoil that."

"So you cried alone in my shower?"

When David glanced over at him, he noticed that Patrick's hands were gripping the steering wheel.

"Just a bit."

Patrick eased the car over onto the gravel shoulder, and shifted the car into park. Patrick turned to look at him.

"I'm so sorry, David."

"It really wasn't a big deal. It was nothing. You made it up to me, remember? You woke me up with a blow job every day that week. We can keep driving." David tapped the dashboard in emphasis. 

Apparently Patrick missed the signal that David was ready to move past this topic. "But you'd dated people before, who kept you a secret. Of course that was upsetting."

"We've been over all of this already. You're good. It's in the past."

Patrick closed his eyes, head tipping back on the headrest. "It never should've happened at all."

"Ok, but what good does it do us now, dredging up all this old shit?”

“David, that’s literally what half of these questions have done - prompt us to talk about things that happened in the past. Why is this different?”

“Ugh. I don’t know. That day was a real mixed bag for me, you know? And I shouldn’t still feel a little weird about it, because that’s ridiculous. Your parents walked you down the aisle at our wedding for fuck’s sake. I know they’re supportive. That’s not it.”

“They’re definitely supportive. My dad hung a pride flag outside their house for the entire month of June this year.”

God, he loved Clint and Marcy. “Yeah, so it’s really not about them at all. It’s totally fine.”

“It’s clearly not, though.”

David let out a harsh breath. “Fine. Fine. Ok. Remind me again, why were you so afraid to tell them, if you knew with near-certainty that they’d be fine with it? Almost two years, Patrick. Like you said, you knew I’d had some unpleasant history with being somebody’s secret. Why was it worth that, to keep it from them?”

“In retrospect, my reasoning doesn’t make sense, even to myself,” Patrick replied. 

“Ok, then give me the illogical reason.”

“I was embarrassed.”

“Well, maybe not  _ that  _ reason. Why were you - nevermind. Don’t answer that. I think I need some air, maybe?” David reached for the door handle.

“Jesus, David. Not embarrassed of  _ you _ , Christ.” 

Patrick’s swearing only sounded this Catholic when he was really upset, David knew. He took his hand off the door handle. 

“I was embarrassed that maybe everyone, every person I’d ever known, knew something about me all along that I didn’t figure out until I was thirty fucking years old. Every classmate who’d made a joke about why I didn’t sleep with Rachel until freshman year of college, every worried aunt who would call my mom to speculate whenever Rachel and I broke up. And I knew that if my parents found out about me, about you and me, they’d tell the family, and the family would tell  _ everyone _ , and everyone would nod their heads and say, ‘Yeah, that makes sense. I always thought so,’ and David, something about that...I hate being wrong. And being wrong about  _ myself  _ for so many years - it’s so goddamn embarrassing. But in Schitt’s Creek, with you, nobody knew all that. I was a better version of myself. I just wanted to hold onto that feeling for a bit longer, not have you, or anyone else, see what kind of idiot I was before.”

Patrick wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. “Looks like I have to update my answer. The last time I cried, since 1998, is right now.”

David’s heart broke a bit at that, and the years-old hurt he hadn’t realized he’d been hanging onto melted away, water under the proverbial bridge. He reached a hand over the center console, rubbing at the soft denim over Patrick’s knee. “You think anyone knows their real selves before the age of thirty?”

“Probably. Most people, anyway.”

  
“Bullshit. And you did know yourself. Just not yourself as a sexual being. You knew what you wanted to do for work, who you were as a friend and a son, you knew the values you held, all that shit. So you didn’t know you exclusively liked dicks. That’s just one part of who you are - not the whole thing. You’re not an idiot.”

Patrick shot him a watery, weak smile.

“And besides, I wouldn’t have married an idiot.”

Patrick laughed at that, taking David’s hand in his and kissing his knuckles. 

David peered out his window at the darkening night sky. “We’re not going to beat the moths, are we?”

“No, I don’t think we are,” Patrick replied. “If we get a motel, and leave early tomorrow morning, we’d still get back in time to open the store.”

“So you’re making me choose between moths and an early morning wake-up time. That’s what you’re doing.”

“Your call,” Patrick said brightly. David was pleased to see his sass had returned intact, even if it was at David’s own expense. 

“Goddamnit, early morning wake-up it is. At least this way, one of us can be fucked into the mattress tonight.”

Patrick pulled out his phone. "Next question. 'Tell your partner something that you like about them already.' Easy. I like your priorities." 

David laughed, cupping Patrick's jaw and tugging him in for a kiss. 


	7. Chapter 7

“You didn’t answer -  _ shit,  _ David - the question from earlier,” Patrick pointed out, breathily. The fact he was still speaking at all told David he needed to up his game. 

David twisted his index finger in Patrick’s ass, tugging on the rim. 

“Hm? Oh, something I like about you. Right now, what comes to mind is what you do when I do  _ this. _ ” David slipped a second finger inside, curling them both until Patrick’s back arched up off the bed. “Or the way you sound when I do this.” 

David leaned forward, sucking the head of Patrick’s cock into his mouth as he pushed his fingers in and out of Patrick’s willing body. Patrick groaned, and fisted his hands in David’s hair.

“ _ God _ , David. Pause, pause - I don’t want to come yet.”

David pulled off, but continued the steady press of his fingers. He knew Patrick couldn’t come from just having his ass played with, so this still counted as a ‘pause,’ if an unfair one, judging by the way Patrick was still begging. 

“Come on, ease up, I wanna last, please.” 

David stilled his fingers, leaving them inside. “You asked so nicely. Alright.”

Patrick shifted his hips, fucking himself on David’s fingers. 

“So not pausing, then?” David took that as a signal to swallow his dick down again. 

“I don’t know! I,  _ fuck _ , you feel so good. Didn’t we just have sex this morning? How do you feel this good - it shouldn’t be possible.”

“Mysteries of the enigma,” David replied, mouth against the head of his dick. He pressed a kiss to the crown, licking into the slit. 

Patrick tugged on his hair hard, forcing David’s head up and off his cock. He braced his hands against David’s shoulders, and before David could process what was happening, Patrick was flipping him onto his back, reversing their positions. He slid his hands down David’s arms, bringing his wrists up beside his head and pressing them firmly into the mattress. A little manhandling would never not turn David on, and he went along with this chain of events more than willingly. 

“What now?” David asked, curious about the glint in Patrick's eyes. 

"Now, I'm going to ride you, but I'm only going to move when you say something positive about yourself. And you're going to keep your hands up there. Sound good?"

"Is this like reverse praise kink or something?"

"Yes, David. My kink is you complimenting yourself." Patrick rolled his eyes, but smiled down at him fondly. "Actually. I think it might be? Is that a thing?"

"Anything can be a thing."

"So wise." Patrick leaned down kiss him, hands still firm on David's wrists. "Are you going to keep still for me?"

"Yeah. Yes. Mmhmm."

  
  


“Good.”

Patrick reached into the scrunched up motel sheets for the abandoned lube. He braced himself over David’s hips, cock bumping into his teasingly. He reached behind himself and, David assumed by the way he groaned, added a third finger to the two finger-widths David had worked him up to already. 

David stayed still, even though his hands practically itched to grip the strong thighs on either side of his waist, or leave some fingertip-shaped bruises on the sweet hollows of Patrick’s hips. But Patrick had said to stay still, and David really loved doing what he was told. At least in this context. 

Patrick gripped David’s cock with his already-slicked-up hand, positioning it at his hole and sinking down just enough for the head to pop inside. David’s fingers clenched with the effort of staying immobile. He waited for Patrick to sink down further, but when Patrick’s thighs started to visibly shake from the strain of maintaining this position, he remembered. 

“Any time now, David. Something good about yourself, please.”

“Oh, yup. Well, right now I’m feeling pretty good about how I can make you feel. Even when you won’t let me touch you.”

“Good.” Patrick lowered his hips, letting his body swallow David’s cock to the root. Patrick settled his full weight on him, but didn’t move an inch further. 

“Seriously? For every compliment, just one move?”

“You’re free to stack them. I’ll count. Go ahead.” Patrick flexed around him, making David gasp.

“But I can’t  _ think _ when you do that!”

“Apologies, I’ll stop.” Patrick went completely still, the opposite of what David wanted. 

“Ugh, fine. Ok. I’m a good friend.”

“One,” Patrick counted off.

“I’m creative.”

“Two.”

“I’m...I have good taste.”

“Three. Gotta say, not encouraged that you’re already struggling. We might be at this all night.”

“Alright! I’m generous, loyal, and...and. Resilient,” David forced out.

Patrick smiled at him, clearly pleased. “Don’t think I didn’t notice you reused some of mine from yesterday. That’s alright - glad they sunk in.”

“Can you quit talking and fuck me already?”

Patrick leaned backwards on his hands, giving David a gorgeous view of the long line of his body bent in a beautiful curve. Patrick lifted himself all the way off his cock before sliding smoothly back down. He ground his hips forward then, pressing David as deep inside as this position allowed. A couple thrusts later, he stilled again, but this time, he leaned over to grab the lube again and slick up his own cock.

“You can do better, David. How about this. If this is too difficult, I’ll just get myself off with you still inside me, and give you a mediocre handjob after I finish.”

“God _ damnit _ , Patrick! This is hard for me. Can I have a quota of stupid compliments to say? There’s no way I have an unlimited supply, and I just want. I just want you, ok?”

Patrick grinned down at him, leaning forward to catch his mouth in a kiss. “I like it when you say what you want. Ok, you’re at seven. How about we get to fifteen, and I’ll, how did you so romantically put it, ‘fuck you into the mattress?’”

"Sounds great. Alright. So I've been told, by someone in this room, that I'm kind of good looking."

"Eight." Patrick rocked his hips forward, giving David a taste of what he wanted. "And you're extremely good looking. Keep going."

"I'm a good brother. But I don’t want to think about my sister right now.”

“Enough said. Nine.” Patrick mercifully didn’t move at all on that one. 

“I’m innovative. I have good ideas.”

“Yes you do.” Patrick rocked his hips again. “Ten.”

“I’m good at building relationships, getting people to trust me,” David said.

“Hm. Eleven.” 

“I’m honest. I can’t help it.”

Patrick reached a hand forward and tweaked one of David’s nipples, firmly. “These are starting to sound like half-insults. You’re not manipulative, or compulsively honest. You’re trustworthy, and authentic. But I’ll give you twelve for effort.”

David lowered his hands from their compliant position above his head, and gripped Patrick’s hips to fuck up into him. Patrick was on him in a heartbeat, hands gripping his wrists  _ hard _ , pushing them back up. 

“Do you want to stop playing? Is that what you’re saying? What’s your color, David?”

“Green, green. Sorry. Was just getting impatient. And I wanted to see what you’d do.”

“You wanted to see what I’d do? Well, what I’d like to do is spank you for a good, long while, but I’m comfortable here. You look really good underneath me. Let’s up the quota to twenty.” Patrick released his hold on David’s wrists, staring at him appraisingly. 

David groaned. “I’m...excellent at planning events, parties.”

“True. Thirteen.”

“I’m...curious. I read a lot, I guess.”

“Take off the qualifier, and we’ll count that as fourteen.” Patrick squeezed more lube from the bottle beside him, and pulled up and out just enough to wrap a slick hand around David’s dick before sliding himself back down. “Mm. Better. You do read a lot. Because you’re an intellectually voracious person.”

“God. ‘Voracious’ is a terrible word. Almost counterbalances how  _ good _ that feels.” David thrust up into Patrick, using the limited leverage he had. 

“No moving. What’s fifteen, David?”

“I’m...tidy?” David said, unsure.

“Sure. I’ll count that.” Patrick clenched around him again, fucking tease that he was.

“I’m - I’m good at taking care of people. I can tell what people need.”

“That’s a good one. Sixteen,” Patrick replied. 

“I’m supportive. I think I encourage people. Sometimes, anyway.”

"Mm. Definitely feeling very  _ supported _ right now." More deep rocking. God, David was going to lose his mind. "Seventeen. Almost there, hon." Patrick resumed his loose-fisted stroking of his own dick, in time with the subtle back and forth rocking of his hips. David couldn't keep his eyes open anymore.

"I'm. I'm, fuck. I don't know! God, please, Patrick, please. I almost did it, and seventeen rounds up to twenty, doesn't it?" David opened his eyes, and took in the wavering expression on Patrick's face. "Wait - I've got one. Persuasive."

"Good. You're doing so good. I'm so proud of you." Patrick dipped down to suck kisses into his neck, which changed the angle of David's cock inside him in thoroughly distracting ways. "Eighteen," he murmured hotly against David's ear.

Patrick set up a tortuously slow rhythm then, mouth reattached to his neck, and David knew he was going to have marks there tomorrow. 

"I'm, shit, fuck, dammit. I'm a good person. Really good," David gasped out as Patrick brought his hands up to the back of David's head, forcefully angling his face just the way he wanted, so he couldn't look away. This had the added effect of killing off the remainder of David's functioning brain cells.

"Didn't I do enough - isn't that close enough?" David begged, "Please, please let me touch you."

Patrick sat back up, hands still firmly keeping David's head in place, eyes locked with his. "I have the last one for you. Deserving. That's what you are. You can touch me now, David."

"Thank Christ." With that permission granted, David hooked his hands over Patrick's shoulders, flipping their positions smoothly in a way he was personally quite proud of. He hiked Patrick's legs over his shoulders, sending out a cosmic thank you to Twyla for Patrick's newfound flexibility, ever since he'd started reliably attending 'Twyla's Twilight Yoga' sessions every Wednesday night.

"Touch yourself, hon, yeah. Do it," David said, nearly out of breath already at how hard he was fucking into Patrick beneath him.

Patrick's head was tipped back, eyes clothes, mouth open - gorgeous. He was so fucking gorgeous like this.

“Keep going, come on, keep going. Give it up, David.”

“David put all his weight on one hand, so he could bring the other up to bat Patrick’s hand away from his cock and take over. He certainly couldn’t keep this up for long, but he had a strong suspicion he wouldn’t need to, if the way the flush was spreading down Patrick’s chest was any indication. 

“Oh, fuck. Oh fuck. I’m gonna - I’m - “

Patrick’s back arched, and he came in long pulses against his chest, David’s hand working him through it.

When Patrick finally sank bonelessly back into the mattress, David let his lube-slick hand land on the thoroughly defiled sheets, giving his shaking other arm a break. He sat back on his heels, pulling out carefully, and took in the extremely gratifying sight of an utterly fucked out Patrick before him. All he could think about were ways to make him dirtier.

David leaned forward on his knees, and jerked himself roughly until he added his own come to the mess already there on Patrick’s stomach and chest. No longer able to stay upright, he collapsed to Patrick’s side, like his strings had been cut. 

From beside him, Patrick murmured, “David, can you...”

“Yeah, I've got you.” David replied, needing no further instruction. 

This was something Patrick wanted sometimes, and David loved giving it to him. He rolled to his side, facing Patrick. He brought his free hand, the one incidentally not coated in slowly drying lube, to Patrick’s stomach. He started with the lowest splash of come he could see, a couple inches to the right of Patrick’s navel, and swirled it into his warm skin with his fingertips. He traced those wet fingers up to the next spot, creating a filthy connect-the-dots as Patrick twitched and shuddered beneath his hands. He traced circles around his nipples, blowing across them and watching them pebble up. The highest streak of white ended just below Patrick’s jaw line. 

“Tip your head back, darling.” 

Patrick obliged, arching his neck. David dragged a single fingertip through the come there, tracing it back and forth lightly across his throat. Patrick hummed, sweet and pleased. 

Satisfied that he’d found it all, David ran an open, wet hand from Patrick’s neck to his hips, ensuring every inch of skin was evenly coated in the evidence of what they’d just done together. 

*

After half-sleeping showers were completed, David settled in next to Patrick under the scratchy covers of a blessedly clean second bed. When they’d checked in earlier that night, David had had the wherewithal to request a double, for this very reason. 

“How are you feeling?” David asked. 

Patrick blearily opened his eyes to look at him, scanning over his face, a wrinkle between his eyebrows. "Good. Really good. But shouldn't I be asking you that?"

"It's a two way street, you know that. And I'm great. Fantastic, actually. Only a little bit embarrassed."

"Why are you embarrassed?" Patrick asked mid-yawn, blinking hard.

"Oh, just. Never had to list off so many of my own positive attributes during sex before.”

“Glad I can still challenge you. It was ok, right?”

“Yes, it was more than ok. And yeah, you challenge me, but in the best way, I promise. Let’s sleep now.”

“Love you, David.” Patrick sighed out, arm snaking around David’s midsection and pulling him close, hot breath on his neck.

“Love you too, Patrick.”

*

Over cellophane-wrapped blueberry muffins from the motel’s modest continental breakfast the next morning, David read the next question off his phone. “‘What, if anything, is too serious to be joked about?’”

“Being late to the store, that’s too serious to be joked about. We should get going.”

“Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, they say,” David said through a mouthful of muffin.

“Oh, they do?” Patrick replied, tone salty but mouth splitting into a fond grin.

David stood up from the rickety patio table outside the motel office, and tossed the wrapper and his empty paper coffee cup in the trash. “I’m sufficiently fed and caffeinated now. We can go.”

Patrick nodded, eyes noticeably shifting down and away to somewhere below David’s face. Ah.

“Yup, those marks are above the Line of Propriety, aren’t they,” David commented dryly, guessing what Patrick was staring at. 

“I’m sorry - those bruised up pretty good,” Patrick said, but he really didn’t look sorry at all. He looked more like he was considering dragging him back to the room they’d just checked out of. 

“You know I like them. I didn’t shave this morning. The stubble should hide them a little, and I’ve got some coverup in my bag.”

“You’re such a boy scout.”

“Always prepared for you to lose control when I’m naked. I’m irresistible,” David replied, gloating. 

Patrick leaned across the table, brushed crumbs from the side of his mouth, and kissed him. “Compliment hour is over, David. Now you’re just bragging. Let’s get going.”

*

“So you didn’t answer the question,” David pointed out, a few minutes down the highway. 

“What was it again?”

“Whether or not anything is too serious to be joked about.”

“Ah. Well. I don’t think I could find a joke about something serious happening to you funny,” Patrick replied, eyes straight ahead on the road.

“Like I fall off a ladder while changing a lightbulb or get run over by Ted on his motorcycle or choke on some of Heather’s organic blue goat cheese, something like that?”

“Yes. And I’m serious! I don’t want to think about any of those things. But I know CPR and all the latest best practices for saving someone who’s choking, so you’d probably be ok on that last one. As long as I’m nearby.”

“Now who’s the boy scout. But also, why is that weirdly hot?” David contemplated out loud.

“The idea of me resuscitating you is hot?” Patrick sounded skeptical. 

“...Maybe?”

“You’re ridiculous. Ok, your turn.”

“Hm. I was going to say something truly awful, like Mariah Carey releasing a Meghan Trainor covers album.”

“Well, at least we know yours could never happen. Mariah wouldn’t do that to you.”

David made an only semi-facetious sign of the cross at just the idea of what he’d spoken into the world.

"I need to scrub that from my brain now. Next question. Yikes, this one’s kind of dark. ‘If you were to die this evening with no opportunity to communicate with anyone, what would you most regret not having told someone? Why haven’t you told them yet?’”

“Oh man. You go first?”

“I honestly don’t know. There’s not a lot I haven’t said to somebody I care about. But if you’d asked me this seven years ago, I would have had a really different answer. An answer that would’ve required a three volume, epic novel-length amount of words to convey. Thank God I didn’t fatally fall off a ladder in 2013, is what I’m saying.”

“I’m glad you didn’t fall off a ladder in 2013 either, David.” Patrick took his hand across the center console, interlocking their fingers. 

“Alright, what’s yours? I’m sensing something complicated.”

“Yeah. Um, Rachel, you know? We haven’t spoken since that five minute conversation in the parking lot of the motel, your family within earshot. I just feel like I still owe her more than that. My mom sent me a picture of her, a few months ago. They still keep in touch. She got married, had a baby. She seems really happy. I think maybe we could be friends? She really was important to me. I really fucked that up.”

“That’s understandable, hon. I’m really glad she’s happy though, that she got what she wanted. Do you think she’d want to hear from you? I don’t mean that in a bad way.” He squeezed Patrick’s hand. “Sometimes people just want to move on, and don’t need more words to do it. Maybe that five minute conversation was enough,” David offered. 

“Yeah, you’re right. I don’t know. I don’t know how I  _ could _ know, now. Maybe I could send her a card or something, from the store? A congratulations on the baby?”

“That’d be nice. A card’s good, because she doesn’t have to respond if she doesn’t want to. But it would open the door, if she does.”

“I think I might do it. I’ll talk to my mom about it, see what she thinks. She knew Rachel really well.”

“Great idea,” David replied, meaning it. 

“So how many questions left?” Patrick asked. “We’ve got about forty five minutes to go until we get to the store.”

“Just three. I believe in us. Considering that the original experiment provided just ninety minutes for participants to complete all thirty-six questions,” David pointed out.

“Wow, we’re so good at this. Next question.”

“Alright. ‘Your house, containing everything you own, catches fire. After saving your loved ones and pets, you have time to safely make a final dash to save any one item. What would it be? Why?’”

“Easy. My baseball cards. My grandpa collected them. So did my dad, and so did I. My dad gave me his and Grandpa’s collections a couple years’ back - they’re in a shoe box in the front closet. It’s something we all had in common, something we all loved. Makes me feel like a Brewer. I’d save them in a fire.”

“That’s really sweet. I like that,” David replied. “I never knew my grandpa, my dad’s dad. From what Dad’s said, that might have been for the best. He was a real traditionalist. Probably wouldn’t have liked me.”

“Then he would’ve been missing out.” Patrick squeezed his hand. “What would you save in a fire?”

“Mm. Mine’s easy too. The receipt from our first sale. I know we’ve got it hung up in the store, but I count the store as an extension of our house. If it were on fire,” David paused to shudder, “I’d save that. It commemorates the two best things that have ever happened to me.”

“God, you’re right. I’d want to save that too. But to be fair, I answered  _ the actual question. _ It said ‘house,’ not store. I thought you were the rules guy.”

“I made an exception,” David replied haughtily. “The store is my house. Sort of. Whatever. Two questions left.”

Patrick laughed. “Alright. Let’s do this. Hit me.”

David read the question. “Hm. Another super serious one. ‘Of all the people in your family, whose death would you find most disturbing? Why?’ Fuck, I’ve got mine already. Alexis. Of course, Alexis. I’ve pulled her out of so many life-threatening situations. I’d be so damn mad if, after all that, she got eaten by a tiger shark in Costa Rica or something, while Ted’s studying sea turtles or whatever.”   
  


Patrick nodded understandingly. “Well, if it makes you feel any better, if the Yakuza couldn’t get her, the tiger sharks likely won’t either.”

“You’re probably right. Come to think of it, Alexis might actually be immortal. Who’s yours?”

“You, no question.”

“Not fair!” David replied. “Name somebody else. I would’ve said you! I interpreted the question to mean my  _ biological _ family.”

“David, it’s fine if yours is Alexis. Of course it is.”

“Ugh! It’s because I don’t worry about you! Not like I have to worry about her. You’re not going to go cliff diving into coastal water of dubious depth or parasailing in an active war zone. I  _ trust _ you. It’s a compliment.”

“Don’t worry,” Patrick replied. “I take it as one. I’m glad I don’t make you worry.”

“I mean, don’t get me wrong, I still check ‘Find My Friends’ when you’re fifteen minutes late from an evening vendor visit.”

Patrick shot him a glance, with a raised eyebrow.

“Just in case! Twilight is when the deer are out! Who knows what could happen. Ok, so I still worry a little. A reasonable amount.”

“A totally reasonable amount,” Patrick repeated, teasing. “Hey, look at that. The glorious Schitt’s Creek sign is coming up. I’m so glad your dad made it worse.”

“Excuse me,  _ Roland _ made it worse. My dad was trying to get it taken down.”

“He really succeeded there, didn’t he.” Patrick laughed. 

David cringed for the thousandth time as “Welcome to Schitt’s Creek, Where Everybody Fits In” accosted his eyeballs. But he also felt a twinge of involuntary fondness. The sign, fucked up as its choice of visual representation was, still rang true. 

“Last question. ‘Share a personal problem and ask your partner’s advice on how he might handle it.’”

“The only problem I can think of right now is how to afford the amount of alcohol-based compensation required to get Stevie to cover the store for one weekend a month,” Patrick answered. 

“Hey! That’s what I was going to say too! Maybe at this point, it might be cheaper to just hire someone, part-time. I think I could stand it. But only if they were background checked, fingerprinted, and came with a minimum of five personal and professional references dating back at least ten years. Then, it might be worth it.”

Patrick pulled the car up to the usual spot, next to the store’s back door. “Glad to hear that the opportunity for time alone together might be worth you overcoming your phobia of trusting other people.” 

David ignored the baiting. “I really loved this trip, even if basically all we did was drive and talk."

Patrick shrugged, smiling. “It was ok, I guess. Though I didn’t even get to start my fourteen hour audio book on the Crimean War.”

“Thank God for 36 questions,” David replied, pulling Patrick in for a kiss. 


End file.
